


Breathing Histories

by cinderlily



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate History, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:16:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5022571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver wasn't prepared for a lot of things when he was called up to the Coyotes. Not the language barriers, the new city, and he certainly wasn't prepared for Mikkel. Mikkel who spoke his language, who wanted to show him around and who... had a kid. A sweet little girl who was definitely amazing but more responsibility than the 19 year old thought he was prepared for. </p>
<p>He spends the next few years figuring out how he was wrong and proving it to himself and Mikkel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have so so so many people to thank that it might actually be better to write an essay but here goes. I need to thank Saxifandomck (Sarah) for being the one to give me this story, for being my hockey wife and co parent of Eleanor. I literally could not have done this with out her. I need to thank i-mean-reallly (Jess) for reading it and giving me love and support when I was at the end of my rope. I need to thank bluebookworm (TONYA! OMG 11 years of friendship!!!) for being the beta I SO SO SO SO SO SO needed. For reading this even though you aren't in the fandom and for fixing the crazy amount of mistakes that were in it. Thank you so freaking much. 
> 
> My cup runneth over. <3 <3 <3

** **

**June 5th, 2007 Eleanor is 3 days old**

Mikkel was pretty sure that his mom was playing a trick on him or (more likely) had been pulled in by Mads to play a trick on him. It was cruel, really, because he was just tired enough that he would have fallen for it. A baby at their doorstep, that’s hilarious, he’d have to get Mads something good. Maybe a large debt in his name? Or a phone call about an STI. He had a few girls he knew that could pull it off; girls that don’t know Mads personally, but would totally support him once he told them that he’d almost been duped into thinking he was a freaking father at 17….

A small, pitiful squall came across the phone line, and his world stopped.

“I’ll get the next flight,” he heard himself say. He didn’t quite wait for his mom to respond, because she was busy shushing an actual baby.

*

Sixteen-and-a-half grueling hours and who-knows-what on the credit card he’d assured his parents would only be for emergencies later, he stumbled into the front room of the house he was raised in. His mother was asleep on the couch, her small frame curled around a baby basket. He stopped where he was for a long second, bizarrely hoping there was still a chance that this was a joke. A rather elaborate, expensive, and cruel joke that was taken way-way-way too far, but a joke, nonetheless.

A small noise came from the basket and his mother almost stirred, hushing as if still from her sleep. He walked over and looked in the basket to see… well. A baby. They all looked alike really, or at least to him. Its skin was blotchy red and had thin wisps of blonde curls everywhere; that was different, at least (weren’t babies supposed to be bald?). One eye opened just slightly, not enough really to see any color but a dark dark black and it kind of looked like an angry little pirate.

He laughed and his mom jetted up, jostled the baby, and caused a noise so unholy to come out of its mouth that he thought he really would have remembered having sex with a demon to spawn that. But his mom picked the baby up, and put it against her shoulder, steadying him with a glare he hadn’t seen in years.

“Mikkel, who is Anna Moller?”

The name didn’t catch him nearly off guard as it might have, had he not spent the entire flight going through the list of candidates. It wasn’t… the longest list. Unless male pregnancy was an untold Danish party trick, he’d kept his flings with girls few and far between. Far enough that he could do decent enough math.

“She was a friend I made last summer,” he started slowly. “She lives near Simon.”

His mother shook her head. “Friend, Mikkel?”

“I didn’t know about this, I swear to you, Mama.”

He felt a little like he’s settling a horse, his hands up in front of him.

“Where is Far?”

“He’s off getting things for your **daughter** , Mikkel.”

Mikkel could feel his knees buckle a little, and forced himself to lock them. Daughter. That was a baby girl. His mother was holding his daughter. Daughter.

On second thought he found the nearest chair and collapsed in it.

“Sit back.”

Suddenly, his mother was in front of him, a pale yellow blanket tucked around the squirming infant, and his hands reacted almost naturally. She clucked her tongue at him and put the baby back on her shoulder long enough to move his hands in place with one of hers.

“You put her head here, to support her neck; she doesn’t have much control of that just yet. Tuck her in close to you.”

She’d calmed down enough that she was letting a few mewling cries out, but nothing loud enough to pierce his ear drums. He looked down at her: bright red now, but going pink at the edges. Her eyes were mostly open, and looking at him as if she was considering him. She stuck her tongue out and then turned her head to his chest.

“Sorry love, he’s got nothing to give,” his mother laughed.

And for a brief instant Mikkel wanted to object, cause he didn’t know what exactly was going on but he knew he would move heaven and earth to give this little girl anything. But then, when he felt a suckling against his chest, he blinked.

Oh. _Ohh_.

“Sorry, little duckling,” he mused. “There is nothing coming from there.”

As if on cue, the door opened, and his father came in.

*

Mikkel's lips brushed back and forth along the top of the baby's fuzzy head. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he felt like he hadn't really slept since the phone call from his mom, which could have been an hour ago or a year ago; it all felt the same. His mother had agreed to give him some time to think about what he was going to do. He kept his eyes glued on the room ahead of him, not daring to look down at her.

Her.

His daughter.

Who had no name.

He couldn't help but feel like that wasn't fair. That she was resting in this place of nothingness. Not quite given the right to be there, not even having a way to know herself. One of his hands landed on her back and he hummed.

"A name," he whispered. "What do you think about one of those?"

The baby let out a snuffle in her sleep, which was probably more of a protest against the movement but he took it as affirmation.

"Well, I can't exactly call you Duckling, even if you do have duck feathers for hair."

He looked around his childhood bedroom. Nothing seemed to be popping out, not like that really shocked him. A teenage boy's room didn't exactly scream 'Let me name a human for you.' Unless he wanted to name her after one of the players on his walls, which would be cruel on a few different levels. Not the least of which being that he hoped to play with at least some of the players he had idolized, and he didn't want to have to explain why he had a daughter named 'Jagr'.

 _... if he kept her._ He reminded himself, but dismissed that line of thinking. A name. Huge epic life changing decisions come later, for now he wanted to just name the little human being on his chest. That would be the easy part, right?

"What do you think of Anna, like your mother?"

That felt ... wrong. And awkward. A reminder of who left her behind. He frowned.

"No no, you deserve your own name. Your own future."

The baby didn't respond. He was a little annoyed that she wasn't much for dialogue. All the names he could immediately think of had not great connotations. Ex-girlfriends, family members that were dead (which just creeped him out), actresses he had lusted after as a child.

He thought of asking his mom for suggestions, but knew that she wasn't exactly in a good place at the moment, and that she was probably not happy with him at all so he kept it to himself. He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and flicked open the internet home page, putting the word "baby names" and flipped through them all with half interest.

"Emma, Julia, Sarah, Mathilde?" he tried them out. Nothing. If anything it just made him feel even more annoyed for her. Who knew naming a human was so freaking hard? "Sophie? Freja?"

From his chest came a squall of obvious disapproval.

"Okay, okay, I won't name you those horrible names," he whispered, trying his best to make his chest vibrate with each word like his mother had told him to. His hand bounced on her back. "Hush little one, you'll be fine."

Suddenly a thought came to him, an image.

When he had been in peewee hockey, age four or five, there was a lady who worked at the rink. She had pale blonde hair and blue eyes, and seemed ancient (though to be fair she could have been something like 28 and he would have thought the same thing). Every day he would go to the rink, and he would try and get out to the ice as fast as possible. He would put on all of his gear and rarely think things through when it came to tying his skates. More often than not he was the first one on the ice, skating in large awkward circles, trying to get in practice _before_ practice.

And inevitably he would fall.  
The lady would skate over to him, check to make sure he was okay, and if he cried she would put her hand on his cheek and say, "Oh, hush now, you will be fine little one." Then she would properly tie his skates and let him go wild. He remembered feeling like he could fly after she tied his laces, remembered that sometimes he would forget to cry because he knew he would be fine. She would be there.

He let her name roll around in his head for a second before he tried saying it out loud.

"Eleanor," he said. The baby, who'd calmed down in the interim, let out a sigh. "Eleanor Lene Bødker."

She didn't respond, but he figured getting a name was kind of a tiring thing. He closed his eyes and kissed her head again.

"Eleanor."  
*  
After a while, Mikkel migrated to the front room, finding the couch a lot more comfortable then his desk chair. Plus he was way too anxious to put her down in the moses basket that was by his bed.

Somehow he ended up asleep, head back, with Eleanor curled up on his chest. She woke him every few hours, but he barely checked the clock. His mother had set up a few bottles and put them in the fridge, and he figured out quickly that she was not having them cold, so he ran them under hot water for a few seconds, fed her, (heaven forbid) changed her, and conked out on the couch again.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

At some point, his mother came back into the front room and made a few tutting noises, waking him up enough to take Eleanor off his chest (to his slight protests), and then tell him to go back to sleep. He stumbled back to his bedroom and fell onto his bed.

When he eventually woke up, he stumbled into the kitchen to find not only his mom and dad, but Mads, at the breakfast table. They seemed to have been in a silent game of waiting for him, each with a cup of coffee in front of them.

“Where is Eleanor?” his voice cracked on her name. They couldn’t have just… done something with her without his consent, could they have? WOULD they have?

His mother cursed under her breath. “You’re keeping her.”

It wasn’t a question, but he hadn’t actually thought it in those terms until she said it out loud. He nodded, unable to say the words just yet.

“You’re seventeen, Mikkel,” his father offered. “Are you really thinking about this?”

He had thought about it. For hours. He’d thought about everything that surrounded it. He’d thought about his career, or more than likely his lack of a career. He would have to take his name out of the draft, most likely. It wasn’t like he could take her with him. Or maybe he could, but could he take care of her on his salary? And travel…

His heart rate spiked but then remembered the feeling of her weight against his chest. The feel of her duck feather hair against his chin. Her snuffling breath against his neck.

“I’ve thought about it,” he said with complete conviction.

The three at the table shared a look.

“Okay,” his mother nodded. “Well then. Mads is going to have to get temporary guardianship.”

Something in his chest twisted and he thought he might actually get sick. “Wait, what? You aren’t giving my kid to Mads. That doesn’t even make sense… She’s mine. You can’t…”

His mother held up her hands. “ _You_ can’t travel internationally with her at 17, even if you are her Far. So we give Mads temporary guardianship, and he goes with you.”

“He… but what about the Rogle?”

Mads looked up at him with a half smile. “My shoulder finally gave. I need surgery and then at least a year of Physical Therapy. I could just as easily do that in Canada or America as I can do it here. In six months we’ll switch her to you, and when I’m done with PT I can move back and get back into the game.”

Mikkel felt like maybe he should sit down on the bench beside their table. He looked at his hands. “I can’t ask you to do this for me, Mads. Or you either Mor, Far. That isn’t fair. This is my mistake. I need to take full responsibility.”

“You are not asking us to do anything,” Mads dismissed. “That’s my niece, man.”

Mikkel was honestly speechless. He could feel the tears welling up in the back of his eyes; a sense of relief that he wasn’t prepared for. It was honestly more than he could have ever expected in the middle of the night when he was obsessing about the details of his future.

“We’ll call the lawyer later. We need to get her birth certificate updated, it still has her as Baby Girl Bodker. You named her Eleanor?”

He smiled. “Eleanor Lene Bodker.”

“ _Mikkel_ ,” his mother sighed.

“Suck up,” Mads muttered under his breath. Mikkel nudged him with his foot. They were on the way to an all out wrestling match when from somewhere in the direction of the hallway he heard a newly familiar scream.

His dad looked at him. “Well, go get her, **Far**.“

He stumbled to his feet and headed down the hallway.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**2010: Ellie is 3, Mikkel is 20-21, Olie is 19-20**

Oliver caught sight of Mikkel within five minutes of walking into the locker room in the first few days of Camp. It was embarrassing how quickly he went from taking stock of the room, the people, and his space, to focusing on the guy three stalls down who was laughing at a joke being told to him by the guy Oliver recognized as the Captain. He fumbled with his bags and one of his sticks made a loud clink against the side of his stall. So basically he was 14, not 19, and he just wanted to go back to Sweden. 

“Oliver,” Shane smiled at him, then stopped and looked at the guy who he was talking to, and pointed at Oliver. “Mikkel.” The name kind of rang a bell. 

Mikkel walked over and took his hand to shake it. “I think he wants me to be your interpreter. Though, I think we’ve got at least one Swedish trainer who could do it better.” 

Oliver broke out in a relieved grin. “You’re not Swedish!” 

“Well, you caught me,” Mikkel laughed. “Danish, born and raised.” 

“Can’t fault you for where you were born,” Oliver laughed and Mikkel put a hand to his chest as if he was wounded. 

Shane, oblivious to the conversation, came over and patted them both on the back with a huge grin, saying something to Mikkel that made him laugh like a hyena. 

“He said he’s glad you’re making friends so quickly.” 

Oliver laughed back and gave Shane a thumbs up. He was going to have to work out the whole… English thing eventually, but for now he was running on about sixteen words, and eight of them were not safe for print. 

“We need to meet on the ice for some drills.” 

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Oh great. Nothing better than drills.” 

“Could be bag skates.” 

“An optimist! I think I might like you, Meeks.” 

Mikkel half turned. “Meeks? How about you call me that when you can actually pronounce my first name right. You don’t even have the language barrier to fall back on, _Olie_.” 

Oliver would almost think he was actually getting chastised if he hadn’t gotten a wink a moment later. Oliver’s stomach clenched. A crush on the first day? Was he a complete idiot? 

“Let’s get going,” Mikkel said, smacking Oliver on the ass. “Don’t want to be last on the ice.” 

And yes, he was totally a complete and utter idiot. 

*  
Oliver had to admit that the little girl was cute. Hell, he had to admit she was just about the sweetest thing that he'd ever seen. Bright blue eyes and straight blonde hair that basically SCREAMED that she was from somewhere near home. Though, he reminded himself, so did Shane Doan's kids, and Doaner was full on Canadian. Either way, she had the look on her face of just this side of mischievous cuteness and he was weak to it. He looked around the team and wondered who she belonged to.

"FAR! FARRRRR!"  
His stomach jumped as she went running to the arms of Mikkel. The one guy he'd talked to that day. The guy who, to be honest, he'd been flirting with on the down low from the second he saw the smile. Oh god, the mischievous smile mimicked on his daughter's face.

"Aeling," Mikkel laughed, swinging her back and forth.

Well, that was that. He tried to school his face to blank rather than 'oh god, flirting with apparently a straight guy'. He could have sworn. He would have put MONEY on the fact that Mikkel was flirting back but apparently that was a no go. He started to turn and wobble out of the room, so that he could change and go home (er-- hotel) and lick some wounds, when he heard from behind him:

"OLIVER!"

He turned around, the least genuine smile ever on his face. "Yeah."

"This is Eleanor," Mikkel smiled. "My little hooligan."

He looked so happy. So ... proud. Olie swallowed his disappointment. At the very least he had a friend here, and he wasn't going to ruin that. "Hello there."

She ducked her head against her father's neck, her bright blonde hair covering the only eye that would be visible.

"She doesn't speak Swedish," Mikkel laughed and then said something in Danish to her. She turned slightly and waved quickly, putting her hand directly back to clutching at her father. "I swear, she's usually hyper and loud. You really should see her when the Doan kids get here. She speaks English! It's crazy. I never thought I'd have a kid who knows a language better than me at 3."

"She's far ahead of me in two languages," Olie rubbed his neck and ducked his head. There wasn't much left for him to say, so he forced out his best english. "Nice to meet you El-yea-nor."

A giggle came, first from the little girl and then the person holding her. Olie tilted his head a little, trying to get a better view of Eleanor's face. She leaned her face up and covered her mouth with her hand, obviously telling her dad something.

Mikkel nodded, said something in Danish back, then looked at her. "She said you can call her Ellie."

"I butchered it that bad?"  
"Just a bit."

Olie laughed and leaned back towards the little girl, trying this time for Danish, "Undskyld, Ellie."

"Orden, Olie," her voice was just above a whisper.

"She means it's okay," Mikkel needlessly translated. Olie waved again at the little girl, who was now at least looking at him. And then he couldn't take it any more. He was a little disappointed, embarrassed as hell, and a little smitten with the blue-eyed blonde girl and her dad.

He wasn't even in the mood to go to the locker room to dress down; it just seemed like too much. But he wobbled that way, where there were thankfully a ton of guys, and even more voices, to keep him distracted from what had just happened. He was down to his under armor when Mikkel came in, still in full gear, and plopped down next to him.

"Your sweater on fire?"

Oliver blinked. "Wh-what?"

"It seems like you can't strip fast enough. Not complaining..."

A part of him wanted to scream, 'WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ABOUT?' but he knew better than to let himself go down that path. He shrugged and started taking off the first layer of socks. Mikkel was just unlacing his boots.

"Eleanor is playing with Shane's kids tomorrow night. You know his son is her age... I don't know how I feel about it," Mikkel laughed, but it was good naturedly.

Olie focused on putting his uniform in the assigned locker. "Well, she's still really young. I wouldn't worry until five, maybe six."

"Oh god, don't even make me think that far in the future. Or worse. Teenage girl."

"That's what your wife is for, I guess." Even without looking he could feel the sudden awkwardness, so he turned around. Mikkel was looking at him with frown. He hazarded a guess. "Your... girlfriend?"

“No and no,” Mikkel shoved his hand through his hair. “So I was thinking we could hang out. You know, I speak Swedish. Thought it might be nice to hang out with someone who you don’t have to use mostly hand gestures with.”

And if he’d asked him an hour before, Oliver would have jumped at the chance, but that was before he’d met the little kid who had Mikkel’s smile and any hopes of… anything had burst in one swift bubble. Mikkel gave him a hopeful look.

“Let me think about it?” Oliver offered.

Mikkel gave that huge smile from earlier and Oliver wondered how to say ‘Totally fucked’ in Danish. “Absolutely.”

*  
With the days being as long as they had to be during the Camp, Oliver was pretty sure Mikkel would have forgotten by the next night that the offer was even out there. **If** he hadn’t done it mostly out of pity. It was honestly for the best, as what little time he did spend with Mikkel made the whole 'let that feeling go' thing exponentially harder. As did the fact that he could pretty much only talk with Mikkel, as his English was slipping and most of the slang seemed weirder and weirder. (He was beginning to think that Smitty was just plain making shit up, but he couldn't actually bring himself to ask Mikkel if he was.)

Tippet kept putting them in the same groups, thanks Coach, and he knew it was meant for his comfort, but he also knew that it was a big mistake. That night he rushed off ice to get out of his gear as fast as he could, but Mikkel still made it there just a few steps behind him, and made another crack about his ass being on fire.

"Just want to get back to the hotel and sleep," he muttered, trying to ignore the fact he felt like an asshole.

Mikkel shrugged. "You should probably carb load if you're getting this tired. Come to mine, we'll order pizza."

Olie could think of ten reasons why he was going to say no, but then he looked at Mikkel with his earnest smile and hopeful eyes and he just... nodded. "Is your ... boyfriend picking you up?"

"Boy…?" Mikkel choked on seemingly air.

"Short guy? Comes with your daughter?"

"My brother? You mean my BROTHER? Oh my god, you think my BROTHER is my type?! He's short. And looks like _my Far._ "

Oliver exhaled weirdly and began to ramble. "Oh. Uh. Yeah. I wouldn't judge. I mean, you could do better, I'm sure..."

"HA!" Mikkel doubled over. "Man, can you tell him that to his face? It'll make my night. He speaks Swedish, I want to see the look on his face. Anyway, I told him that you were bringing me home."

“I said I had to think about it yesterday,” Oliver pointed out.

Mikkel shrugged, grabbed his phone from his pocket, and typed out a quick message before he turned his smile back to Oliver. "MY BROTHER. Man. Oh man. He's going to hate you."

"You said you didn't have a girlfriend."

"Ellie’s mom lives in Finland, I think. Or maybe France?" Mikkel threw over his shoulder, getting undressed and making it seem casual but even Olie caught the edge in his tone. "Last time I saw her was probably the night Eleanor was made.. It wasn’t exactly planned." He turned and quickly pinned Oliver with a look. "It doesn't make Ellie a mistake. Just. A really fucking huge surprise, got me?"

Oliver nodded.

"And my brother helps me out because he was having some trouble with his shoulders in the minors and ... we've always been close."

"That makes sense." Olie knew how dumb he sounded. "Sorry I ... made assumptions."

Mikkel had lost the edge from the minute before and smiled as he through a t-shirt on. "Oh dude, I don't care you thought I had a boyfriend, been there and done that. But ... my brother? That wreck? No thank you. First, he is arrow-straight and kind of a slut, and second, I've got enough on my plate without _another_ person’s feelings to juggle, thanks."

Well, that stung. Oliver realized that he was still in his towel from the quickest shower he could manage. He slipped himself into a old black shirt that was probably way past its wear, jeans, and his usual flip flops. One of the few benefits of Arizona's perpetual summer was that he rarely had to think about weather. He guessed that would change if he got to go on trips to the other NHL cities, but he wasn't counting chickens.  
*  
The car ride was slow and painfully quiet. Most people didn't live near the Glendale arena, even if it would have been much more practical, and that was the same with Mikkel. They got on the 101 and started North, right as traffic was starting to pick up. Oliver fiddled with the CD player in his rental car, a mix of Swedish music that had been keeping the homesickness at bay for the better part of the week he'd been there. Suddenly, it felt more like it was choking him. He put on the radio but that wasn't exactly helpful either. He couldn't sing a long; couldn't distract himself. It was all a mess.  
Mikkel looked out the window, not really paying attention at all. He seemed to know a little of the music though, if the occasional verse that he sang along with was any indication. It was nice, really, not to have to force himself to try and parse out what he wanted to say in English. It made the city feel a lot less stifling, and if Oliver wanted nothing else it figured that it would be something that Mikkel would be willing to take.

"You know Miike Snow?"

Mikkel turned to him with a quirked eyebrow. "Yeah, man, I was in Sweden for a while, a few years back. Why'd you think I spoke the language, shits and giggles?"

"Maybe because your country is the size of a postage stamp and you need to expand your knowledge base to connect with the world?"

"And I chose Swedish for that?" he laughed. "I was taught English when I was a kid. Someone speaks English pretty much everywhere. If I really wanted to get ahead of myself in NHL I'd learn Russian."

Oliver huffed. "Russian, whatever. Swedish players are obviously the best."

"Not biased in the least, are we? How about we just say _Scandinavian_ players are obviously the best."

"I suppose we can say that."

Mikkel hummed his approval. Olie hazarded a look, and found that Mikkel's face was turned toward him, smile warm and happy and _fuck_. He turned back to the road. That was a door that had been recently shut, but shut quite firmly.

"You want to order the pizza for us to pick up, or have it delivered?"

"Beat you to it, it'll be there by the time we get home. Which is the next exit, by the way. Take a right."

Oliver got off at the exit, which appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. "Are you just lying about living out here? Is there anything here? I'm pretty sure Coach would get pretty pissed at the concept of you killing me before the whole rookie year thing happened."

"No, I'm not going to kill you."

"That sounds like what a murderer would say... especially one that makes people turn on to empty streets."

Mikkel pointed ahead at a bank of lights. "I'm renting a house near a good school district. For my daughter."

"Isn’t she way too young for school?"

"They go at five in America, but I want to be in the right area; her preschool friends will go to the same elementary schools."

Oliver hummed, not sure if he was even expected to respond. It shouldn't surprise him that Mikkel had thought of this; he was sure he'd do the same if he had a kid. But they were barely two years apart, and he felt no more prepared for a kid than a sixteen-year-old. It all seemed so overwhelming and yet here Mikkel was, thinking about the possibilities of the future even when their job meant he didn't know where he was going to be in six months. (He kept that thought to himself.)

A sudden bank of houses came up on their left and Mikkel let out a little 'there' noise. "See, houses. Not a murderer."

"Could be a murder house," Oliver muttered. Mikkel laughed again and Oliver was glad it was just dark enough outside to keep any of his blush to himself.

When they got out of the car and through the front door, he found the guy from earlier seated on an oversized couch with an open pizza container next to him. He looked Oliver up and down, and smirked at Mikkel.

He said something in Danish and Mikkel responded back with a snappy tone.

"Oliver," he said, and pointed at the guy, adding in Swedish. "This is my dumb ass brother, Mads."

Mads made a little wave.

"Mads," Mikkel pointed at Oliver, and said something that included his name and then something more that made Mads eyes go wide.

"His BOYFRIEND?! REALLY?"

Mikkel said something else in Danish and Mads shrugged, grabbed another two pieces of pizza, and left the den area, throwing what sounded like a goodbye over his shoulder.

"Do you want a beer?"

Oliver's ears perked. "Beer? Won't the trainers string us up by our toes for that?"

"I won't tell if you don't tell," he smiled. "Besides, I've got a free babysitter tonight, remember? I might as well live it up with a sad, solitary beer." 

He made a good point, and it wasn't like a good Swedish boy to turn down a free beer, so Oliver accepted.

Mikkel said something about throwing in a movie but that idea was rather rapidly forgotten as they started to talk. At first it was pretty light, talking about the season ahead, Mikkel rather bluntly admitting he doubted he wouldn't be sent down when Camp ended. Oliver worried about it himself, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he listened, and let himself happily bask in the familiarity of the sound of his home tongue, which somehow led him to admitting his homesickness, and talking about his hometown and how everyone knew everyone else.

He'd been away from home before; it was inevitable as a hockey player, but this was the first time he felt like maybe this was for good. Even when he went home in the summer, it would be a vacation rather than a return. It was weird how he let himself talk about it when he hadn't even told his mamma or pappa about it yet. (Not that he would talk about it with his pappa; he had some parts of dignity left in him.)

Mikkel listened without judgement, chiming in with a few admissions of his own homesickness, and how he missed his mother's cooking so much he'd asked for recipes... that he'd promptly butchered.

"I could probably cook up some meatballs, if needed," Oliver offered. "It just hasn't felt like I should even try yet. I have a mini kitchen at the hotel, and there is just me."

Mikkel's eyes went wide and he put his hands together as if to pray. "Please feel free to use our kitchen. I promise to even clean it up before you did so. And to share the burden of eating it."

Oliver thought about it. "Maybe. I mean, if you're willing to eat some of them. I can't guarantee they are any good."

"They've got to be better than IKEAs, and I swear I want Eleanor to have some memories of actual food. She practically lives off chicken nuggets and tater tots."

Oliver kept the fact that that sounded good enough for him to himself.

"What about Friday? We have the day off. Eleanor will have school in the afternoon, but I can get Mads to pick her up. I'll call my mom, maybe get a few ideas for sides. Oh man, if only I could get her to send over some dessert. You would love her Aebleskiver. They’re the best."

Oliver had started the day hoping to not have one night with Mikkel, and suddenly he had a second date? Well. Not date. But plans. With his kid. Plans to make food for Mikkel's kid. Maybe if he reminded himself of that enough it would knock the word 'date' out of his mind. It wasn't like he was going to be able to say no to the guy who had what had to be the largest puppy dog eyes going towards Oliver.

He nodded. "I. Um. I'll call my mamma too, I'll get her Hasselback potato recipe."

"BRILLIANT," Mikkel put his hands through his hair again and smiled. "You are my new favorite person."

"Shane will be totally heartbroken," came from the doorway. Oliver jerked around to see Mads leaned casually against the door to what he assumed were the bedrooms. Mikkel must have flashed him a look because he put both hands up as if a white flag. "Chill, I just thought you should know it's nearing 1:30 and you have to be back at the arena in something like eight hours.”

" _Lort_."

Oliver pushed himself to his feet. "I should go, fuck."

Mikkel frowned. "You shouldn't be driving, man. It's way too late and you've had beer."

"One. Nursed over who knows how many hours. I think I'll be fine."

Mikkel shook his head. "I'll take the pull out couch, you can take my bed."

Oliver quite nearly said, 'SERIOUSLY?' in the most exasperated tone he had. "I'm good, I don't live too far."

"I insist, man. You stay here. We'll get my bed remade. I'll loan you a shirt in the morning and you can take me to the arena. Let this lazy ass sleep in."

Mads pumped his fist. "Do it. Please."

And somehow, Mads mimicked the face from earlier. Oliver just gave in.

"I'll stay, but I'll take the couch, okay?"

"My mom would literally kill me if I let you..."

"It's either that or I drive home in the middle of the night."

Mikkel seemed to consider the options and finally shrugged. "Okay. Let me go grab the stuff."

*

His attempt at making kottbullars did not, in fact, go off that well. Eleanor seemed to like them, Mikkel seemed to like them … well _too much_ (like pityingly so) but Mads had no qualms with pointing out that they were dry and crappy, even with the sauce liberally on top. Mikkel had shoved him and said he was being rude, and Eleanor had told him that she liked the sauce ‘much much’ and the ‘pasketti the most’. 

Both of which had come from a box, or bottle, in the case of the sauce. He kept that bit to himself, to save at least a shred of pride. 

Eleanor seemed fascinated with him, which was endearing and weird at the same time. She asked him questions through Mikkel, who also tried to teach her a few of the words in Swedish. She would repeat them over and over, until she could finally let them roll off her tongue, and by the end of the night Oliver was hit with the crazy urge to give her a hug before he left. 

He tried instead to extend a hand to her to shake, which lasted all of five seconds before she leapt into his arms for a hug. 

“Godnat, Olie,” she said, squeezing surprisingly tight for such a little body. She turned to her father and said something rapid fire. 

Mikkel smiled wide, “She says next time she’ll help with the meatballs and they’ll be better.” 

Oliver couldn’t help but laugh at that, though not nearly as hard as Mads, who was bent over with laughter. “Tell her it sounds like a good idea.” 

Mikkel translated. 

“Tak, min Ellie,” he said, thankful that some things were the same in both languages. 

She giggled. “Det var så lidt, MinOlie!” 

Mikkel stopped him at the door. “Thanks for coming over tonight, though you know you are doomed to be ‘her Olie’ forever, right?” 

“There are worse fates,” he laughed, even if he knew in that moment that he would have to distance himself somehow. The way Mikkel gave him the easiest of smiles, the way that the smile he returned felt just as easy… He nodded at Mikkel in response to nothing. “Good night Bods.” 

“Night.” 

*  
When he was told Mikkel had been sent down the next week, he let himself feel disappointed for a minute, but told himself it was very much for the best. When he went down and back up he thought it as fair. 

*  
When they both returned a few months later, and Mikkel finally got him alone again, Oliver was mostly surprised it had taken him as long as it had. The man had been nothing if not clear in his intention to hang out. He had gone out of his way to ask Oliver along if the group was ever going out, making sure to ask in clear Swedish, as if anyone else in the room only spoke it, and then repeating it in English. But Oliver had about a dozen or so completely serious reasons he needed to stay at the arena (practice or rehab or talking with trainers) and he had even more reasons to go home (he was tired, he had a call with his family, he had to rest up, he wasn't comfortable with his English yet and wanted to practice...).

"Ekkman-Larsson," Mikkel was basically in front of his stall, where all of Olie's clothes were in a pile. Olie stood with just his towel on and frowned at the floor. "Do I smell bad? Is that the problem?"

Olie's eyes snapped up. "No. That's not..."

"Easy, easy," he gave him a shy grin. "We're going out."

"I really don't feel comfortable..."

"In a large group with your English," Mikkel finished for him. "Which is why _we_ are going out. The two of us."  
Oliver paused and weighed his options: 

He could lie to the guy: use the other excuses, even though he was somehow sure that each one would be shot down in order.

He could flat out say no, but he knew if he did that, Mikkel would give up, which absurdly made his stomach hurt.  
Or, he could just give in. Even though he knew it was a bad idea. Knew that he wasn't meant to do anything with this guy. Knew that he was bound to get hurt. The guy had a kid, might not even swing that way, and Oliver most definitely _did_ swing Mikkel's way.

"You know, you're going to have to let me get my clothes first," he conceded.

Mikkel fist pumped. "Fucking right, get dressed. I know a place."

*  
The bar was small and quiet, both a nice surprise. Somehow he had pictured Mikkel as a club guy: thudding music, and shots that glowed in the dark. But instead, Mikkel went up to the bar, and came back with two dark beers.

"This doesn't exactly seem your style," Oliver commented, taking a sip that ended up being mostly foam.

"They keep Brøckhouse Stout on tap," he smiled. "A bit of home, you know?"

Oliver laughed and took a longer sip. "Brøckhouse? Pussy beer?"

"Ey, at least I can BUY you that pussy beer," Mikkel prodded him under the table with his foot.

Olie didn't bother to dignify that with an answer, instead taking a long sip and making a show of bitter-beer face. "If I have to suffer through this, I might just wait to get back to Sweden for some real beer. The kind that actually has a kick and flavor. "

"Real beer my ass. I'll get you a 'real beer' and have you flat on your back in less than half of it."

They both froze for a half a second, before Mikkel put the back of his hand to his mouth to cover what could barely be called anything but a giggle.

"That didn't sound right," he amended. "But you know what I mean."

Oliver did, albeit unfortunately. He decided to just ignore that. "I'll find a bar with Swedish beer we can go to sometime."  
Mikkel laughed. “Well, at the rate you like to go out, man, I might retire before we go to a Swedish bar.”

Oliver couldn’t help but blush at that, hopeful that the lighting of the bar could cover up the worst of it. His skin was so pale, though, that even the slightest tinge of red made him look like his cheeks were on fire. He looked down at his beer and made a swirl in the mug’s ice.

"You do have one fatal flaw to your plan, Oliver."

"And that would be?" He hazarded a look back up.

Mikkel grinned. "I'd have to buy you that beer as well."

"Six lousy months," he muttered. "Stupid American laws."

*

Even though he'd only really hung out a few times with Mikkel, and even less with Mads or Eleanor, once Mikkel was up for good Oliver made a mental plan to keep away from him as hard as possible The one time at the bar aside, he knew he was only doing himself a disservice by letting himself get emotionally attached to the guy when he knew that it was just friendship one way. He'd gone through that in juniors more than once, and it wasn't an experience he wanted, ESPECIALLY if it meant an awkward team dynamic. 

Except. 

The Doans threw a pool party, with all the families included, and of course Mikkel brought Eleanor, who basically instantly gravitated towards Oliver, and her big blue eyes were less possible to deny then her father's (if that was possible), so within twenty minutes he had already set up another visit.

"You havta come and make pasketti, Olie. You havta. Far tried; they were bad," she tried in her very best Swedish, something that must have been taught to her by her father. She turned around to a bashful looking Mikkel.

"They might have come out of a bag," he admitted. Oliver felt personally offended. "From IKEA."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Okay, at least you went to the source. But kottbuller are meant to be made, not bought."

"I said that! I said **you** had to, but he said you were busy."

Right to the gut. Oliver looked up at Mikkel, who didn't even have the courtesy to look abashed. Instead, he held up both hands. " _You_ said you were busy."

So, he was going to play dirty, dirty, pool. Oliver knelt down to look Eleanor in the eyes. "I will come for you, min Eleanor."

"Thank you MinOlie." She grinned and ran off towards a gaggle of Doans.

"Dirty pool, Bødker," Oliver commented, as he cupped his hand over his eyes to watch after her.

Mikkel came to stand beside him. "Come on, I can't be all that bad. You're like a monk. Skate, sleep, skate, sleep. You must get lonely sometimes."

If only he knew the half of it. "Well, I guess I have to come over. You're teaching her Swedish; she should learn it from the source."

"Plus you never break a promise to a three-year-old. There will be tears. Some might even be hers," Mikkel nudged him with one shoulder.

*  
Which was how he found himself at the Bødker residence whenever they were home on a Friday. Which wasn't often, but often enough. He found that he was getting to be an expert at kottbullers; had even braved asking for a more complicated recipe from his mom, but Eleanor had looked at him like he was crazy, and he'd gone back to the old way the next time. He made Hasselback potatoes one week, which didn't go over for Eleanor but Mads and Mikkel thought it was fine dining and demanded he make it again the next week. (It was classified as healthy-ish due to it being made with a jacket potato but he also tried to sneak in healthier versions of what his mom had more or less just thrown together when he was younger.)

He also took the time to teach Eleanor Swedish. He didn't know why, exactly, he wanted the little girl to get the language, but it felt nice to pass it along to her, and she was an insanely fast learner. ("She knows English and Danish, and she's three. Languages are easier to pick up when you are younger." Mikkel had pointed out, like that was a fact that Oliver should just _know_.) Sometimes she would insist on teaching him English in return, pointing to the food he was making and saying the words loud and slowly, and making him repeat them over and over again. He was embarrassed to admit that it did help.

That, and the fact that after dinner, Mads and Mikkel insisted on washing up, which usually left him watching kids shows on the couch, with Eleanor lying across him. The Muppets and Sesame Street were weird without the Swedish dubs and without Pompom. (Also, the Norwegian Chef was the SWEDISH Chef? He was annoyed on principle, though it did explain Mads occasionally chanting "Borka borka borka" while he made dinner.) Not that he would tell the scrum, but he was slowly becoming confident in his English skills, to the level of talking with a three-year-old, but that didn't really matter, did it?

It wasn't wise, really, what he was doing. But it didn't stop him. Nor did it even make him pause when, occasionally, Eleanor wasn't there for dinner. Nor Mads. Nor the times that Mikkel just assumed Oliver would take him home and they'd stop in at different places for food, just the two of them.

Some nights he would come home and remind himself of it. He would recognize the warm feeling of home he felt with them, and the homesickness he felt when he left, and say that that was the last time. But it never was, and he always knew it wouldn't be. Even if he lied to himself in the moment.

*  
By the end of the first season, he played for the Coyotes, and the whole "Do not get too close too the Danes" plan had just become a joke in his head. He ended up being near Mikkel more often than not, at games, after games, on the road, and at home. He, Mikkel, and Mads found a steady rhythm of who would pick up Eleanor, and who would make dinner, which was 99% Oliver, and he wasn’t even bothered by that.

Somehow, he’d become part of their family; he could feel it. Which was somewhere between terrifying and blissful. He could only imagine what his year would have been like without them. _Lonely_ , he assumed, but also boring and twice as long. As it stood, going back to Sweden for the summer felt more or less like going away than returning somewhere. He tried to keep it out of his thoughts.

As it stood, he decided to buy a house when he realized that the Coyotes seemed pretty serious about keeping him there, and, in a fit of absolute insanity, he brought Mikkel with him to look at the houses. Though awkward at first, especially with the real estate agent not seeming to understand what was going on, other than Mikkel having to be there as interpreter, it went into comfortable around the third house.

And then they found _the house_. It was a little bigger than he would have thought he'd liked, but it was in a gated community, he had actual neighbors, and everything seemed... home like. He walked into the front door, and it had clicked in a way that the other houses had fallen flat. He saw where he would put his couch-- well, an upgraded couch. He saw a TV above the fireplace. It was just _right_ , and when he looked at the smile on Mikkel's face, he knew instantly he wasn't the only one to think so. He caught the agent saying a few things about square footage and rooms, but all of it was too fast for him to really connect with, even with his English getting better, and Mikkel seemed to forget his job as interpreter.

"See the ceilings?" he prodded Mikkel. "They let the light in perfectly."

"HGTV has subtitles?"

Oliver blushed. "Maybe."

"The guy says it has five bedrooms and four and a half baths." Mikkel frowned. "Don't you think that sounds a bit much?"

Oliver pushed forward, trying his best to be as casual as he can. "Well, one for me, one for you, I'm sure Mads will want one, and Ellie needs a room. The last one can be an office. Or for family... What the hell is a half bath?"

Mikkel went dead silent, which Oliver had mostly expected, even with his rather clever question to distract him at the end. After a minute of looking around the hallway, and then down at his feet, he turned around to see Mikkel gaping like a fish.

"What?"

"Olie," Mikkel started, swallowed, and went again. "You want us to move in here?"

Oliver shrugged. "Well, you said it yourself: it's a little too big for me alone. And to be honest, I've hated living in that stupid condo by myself. I thought maybe it would be easier. Plus, if you get sent down at all, which you really shouldn't, but they are sometimes stupid, Mads won't be doing the whole Ellie thing all by himself during the week."

Mikkel continued the dead fish look.

"... You don't have to. It was just an idea that I had awhile back."

The agent took that moment to interrupt them, obviously, although Oliver had to remember he couldn't understand a freaking word they were saying. Mikkel looked at him and then back at Oliver.

"He said he wants to show us the rooms."

Which ... wasn't what Oliver really wanted to hear at that moment, but he shrugged and made a hand motion for the man to lead on. Mikkel followed behind them so Oliver couldn't even get a gauge off of his body language. Mikkel kept up a running translation from the agent: the different square foot of the bedrooms, which ones shared a bath, and which ones had their own. Turned out the half bath was off the kitchen and was just there for the toilet and a sink. Which was fine by him, he guessed.

His mood was souring, even if he did love the place. The longer it took Mikkel to respond, the more and more he got the feeling that the response was going to be ‘Are you fucking nuts, Ekman-Larsson?' or worse, 'You're really nice but...' and he was just not in the mood for any of that.

The hallway with the bedrooms ended with the master suite, which would be his. He looked around the room with only a little interest. He looked at the closet, which was huge. And the bathroom, which was approximately the size of the room he shared with his brother growing up. He knew he was going to buy the house regardless, had known it from the time he walked into the front door, but he put on a decent show.

"What do you think?" Mikkel asked, when he had gone around the room for maybe five minutes.

"I think it's fine. I mean, the bathroom is basically the same size as the locker room," he shrugged. "And the closet will be full in three weeks..."

Mikkel laughed, and then looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I was thinking the one next door could be mine, and across the hall could be Ellie's. She needs her own bathroom. Mads can share one with the guest room."

Oliver felt himself grin and saw the shy smile coming up on Mikkel's face. He turned to the agent and tried his best to focus on what he needed to say.

In his very best English he called out, "We take it."  
*  
Skyping with a three-year-old, as it turned out, was pretty much the best and worst thing ever. Mostly they chatted through text and occasionally Mikkel sent photos of Ellie doing random things. (The best was making Mads ‘pretty’ using her grandmother’s make up.) It helped to ease the weird ache for this family that was very much only part-time his.

But on the eve of her fourth birthday, apparently after much begging, Mikkel asked if he could Skype with them. Oliver thought it was a bad idea even before he saw her tiny little face on the screen, but the ache in his chest that grew confirmed it.

“MinEllie!” he forced his best smile. “Did you get bigger in just three weeks?”

Eleanor didn’t take the bait, instead she nearly pressed her face to the camera. “MinOlie, MinOlie.. Where have you been?”

“I’m in Sweden, love. Where my family lives.”

“But I miss you. I miss you very much, MinOlie. Come here.”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked down to avoid any tears. “Ellie I would love to see you but…”

“Tomorrow is my party MinOlie, can you come? Please? There will be cake and presents and …” she paused and turned to her father to ask him a question in Danish.

“Bouncy castle,” Mikkel translated. “But Eleanor we talked about how Olie has things he needs to do. He can’t come here, when he is needed there.”

Oliver wondered if he could book a flight that would get him there in time. But reminded himself, again, that they were having a family party. Not one involving Oliver at all.

“I can’t be there tomorrow, but in August we’ll have a second party. A MinOlie-MinEllie party. I already have your present. Okay?”

Eleanor seemed almost okay with it, though she had the slight pout that always made him think of Mikkel frustrated after a loss.

“I pinkie promise.”

Uselessly he put his pinky up towards the screen, but she did too and they both shook their fingers.

“Okay.”

With that she ran away, shrieking something in Danish, assumedly to her grandparents, or maybe Mads. Mikkel looked into the camera and Oliver felt a little bit of a blush come up along his face.

“She seems excited.”

Mikkel rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. I doubt she’ll sleep any time soon. So … you know… me neither.”

“Well, maybe she’ll crash hard tomorrow and you’ll get a great night sleep then?” Oliver offered, feeling so awkward for the first time in such a long time around Mikkel.

“One can hope.”

There was a silence, one that Oliver would give anything to fill, were it not for the fact that apparently his words were completely gone from his head. He was just looking at Mikkel like it hadn’t been less than a month since they’d seen each other. Mikkel looked back, and Oliver could swear the tips of his ears were turning pink, but that might’ve just been the way the camera was angled.

A screaming three-year-old disrupted the silence, speaking in rapid fire Danish to her father. Mikkel gave her his full attention and then turned back to frown.

“I guess I have to go, there is a crisis with the color of the cake.”

“It’s YELLOW,” Eleanor called out, as if that was the most unfair thing that had ever happened to her.

“Oh dear, that sounds important,” Oliver said solemnly. “Better go fix it.”

Mikkel paused and looked at him again. “Bye, Olie.”

Before he could respond the screen went black.

“Bye Mikkel.”

*  
2011: Ellie is 4, Olie is 20, Mikkel is 21

The first week they moved in was kind of a complete shit show. Camp started the week after, and they would have done everything earlier, but there were things like flights, and family time, and life that just got in the way. So, mostly it was a jumble and a ridiculous amount of "How the hell don't we have X?" which ended in not one, not two, but four separate trips to Target, and one trip to IKEA that ended in a lunch that just plain made Olie sad. The meatballs were _okay_ , yet not close to his grandmother’s and yeah, he couldn't expect miracles from a freaking furniture store but it made the whole, "I don't live there anymore" thing concrete.

He had a house. One that was fully his. Not an apartment he could easily move out of.

The upside though, was definitely the third day: coming home and finding that it suddenly looked like it could _be_ a home. He'd had to talk to Coach, had stopped to lace up his skates and get some practice in (and honestly just wanted time that didn't require him to act like he knew what the hell he was doing building furniture). But he came bringing pizza, as a peace offering for ditching out on a whole day, and he even snuck in some beer because why the hell not? Next week started the craziness; they could live it up.

He found Mikkel on the couch they'd bickered over for a good half-hour, not able to decide if they wanted recliners or one of those couches with the extra long sides to lay back on (they went with the ones that were extra long, and Mikkel was taking advantage of the fact). Eleanor was at his side, curled up in the crook of his elbow and chattering in rapid fire Danish, and Mikkel had the look on his face he used when he was actually listening rather than just indulging her.

She quit mid sentence when she caught sight of Olie and her face lit up. "OLIE, OLIE, come here! Hygge!"

"Hoo- wha?"

Ellie giggled, and wiggled out of Mikkel's arms to run and grab Olie's hands, both of them, tugging him back towards the couch without looking behind her. "Hygge, silly."

With surprising force from such a little body, he was shoved down next to Mikkel, who looked a little taken aback but didn’t say anything as she slipped between them. She dug her head back into her Far's side and put her feet up on Olie's lap.

"What is this.. hoogy?"

"It's hoo-ga," Mikkel smiled and answered before Ellie could open her mouth. "It's a thing. I try to keep it up for her when we have the time. My parents did it. It's when family comes together to just spend time together. Sometimes we play games. Sometimes we watch a movie. But this is Eleanor's favorite hygge time. She likes to tell me stories."  
Mikkel poked her playfully in the side to get a giggle out of her. She shrieked giddily. "Faaaar, no no no!"

"What kind of stories does she like to tell?" Oliver asked, trying to ignore how close Mikkel's arm was draped along the back of the couch. How close he felt he was to being cuddled up alongside Mikkel, or the way he'd used family in a way that made Olie feel like a part of it.

"Oh, I couldn't do it justice," he grinned. "You'll just have to get it out of her yourself. You think you can tell Olie an Elea-story?"

Eleanor's ears turned bright pink, and she blinked at her father, and then at Olie, saying something in Danish. Mikkel responded and gently rubbed her shoulder. Even though he thought Danish sounded mostly like gibberish to him most days he got the feeling he knew what was going on. Ellie had improved her Swedish greatly in the year since they'd met, but not enough that she was comfortable enough to do this kind of thing. He got that.

"Maybe I can get an Ellie story next time," he offered. "So she can have time to make it super special."

She smiled at him and nodded. "A very good story, Olie. I promise."

"I'm sure," he beamed at her. He felt a tug in his chest, looked away, and thought seriously about getting up; it wasn't exactly the most comfortable position, but he would rather stay there, he realized, than be anywhere else. "Well, maybe Far can tell us both a story. I'm sure he's pretty good at it."

When Eleanor looked back at her Far, she was employing her favorite puppy dog eyes, and Olie joined in. "Yeah, yeah. A story, Far, please?"

Over Ellie's head Mikkel mouthed 'Thank you, jerk.'

"Of course Aeling, anything for you." He ruffled her hair and she giggled again, and when he put his hand back along the back of the couch it was stretched a little farther out. Or maybe that was just a figment of Oliver’s imagination. "Once there was a baby coyote..."

*

It wasn’t exactly subtle, but it took a while for Olie to notice that once Ellie went to bed on off nights, Mads made his excuses and escaped. Sometimes to his room, sometimes he’d half-ass an excuse that he was going out with friends (even though they mostly shared friends and would have heard about it), but most of the time he just grabbed his keys and left through the front door. Oliver didn’t feel like he needed an explanation; the guy was older than him and basically a roommate. Even if they had lived the first three months like the three Musketeers, sharing beers and watching either games or the occasional Swedish movie once they were child free.

But whatever, Oliver didn't mind it being just himself and Mikkel. They relaxed a little more, and there was a lot less conversation and more comfortable silence. Mikkel didn't make fun of his occasional switching to Noggin to try and pick up the English that was meant for three-year-olds. He was trying, really, to get to the point where he wasn't so desperately in need of Mikkel as his translator.

Mikkel liked to watch other games in the name of research, which was fine by him. He liked watching Sens games when he could, sending chirps and texts to Erik when possible.

*  
There wasn't so much a change in the position on the couch but more a sudden realization that they were extremely close. Oliver felt the air along the side of his face, and heard the way that Mikkel suddenly hitched his breath. They had somehow migrated to a position that wasn't just friendly but _intimate_ , and it was completely taking over every corner of Oliver's brain.

If he wanted to, he could kiss him.

And he did want to.

But there was, as always, the thing between that. The elephant in the room that sat huge, even in the tight space between them; they were teammates and they were roommates. If you asked the guys, they would even say they were married or something; attached at the hip. Yet they couldn't really expect more than that when everything could go away in a second. When Mikkel could get sent down, or Olie could be used as trade bait. Or even, to some extent, with the possibility of it doing anything to Eleanor.

It scared Olie just how easily it could hurt Eleanor and just how much that mattered to him. He would do anything, would give up whatever this was or could be, if it meant that that little girl knew that she was always safe and welcome in this home. In _her_ home. That's why they moved in, right? To give her stability while Mikkel was still working to make the stupid powers that be see how invaluable he was. What if he and Mikkel tried something and it didn't work? Naturally it'd be awkward; how could it not be?

"Oliver?"

He tilted his head to the side, finding Mikkel maybe a half a foot away and staring at him. He went for the most relaxed position he could be in. "Hmm?"

Mikkel looked at him for a long moment and seemed to steel himself. Then, as if to himself, he shrugged and said, "Fuck it."

It went from a slow lean towards each other to a race to the middle, and by the time their lips hit there was a distinct clink of teeth together, which was just as embarrassing at 20 as it'd been with his first kiss at 13. He pulled back slightly, which earned him wary eyes from Mikkel, instantly tense and almost backing up. He slid his hand up and behind Mikkel's neck, feeling the shaved hair at the base as he pulled him forward and resituated so that it was far less problematic.

The taste of beer was still on his tongue, mixed with the familiar weird sensation of saliva. Oliver licked softly at Mikkel's bottom lip, Mikkel reciprocating with a bite instead. Oliver, who usually wasn't the biggest fan of being bitten like that decided he might have to reevaluate that thought, because it felt good, more teasing than any form of painful. He realized he had left his eyes open when Mikkel opened his, and their eyes met for an awkward second.

He felt warmth on his cheeks, which were no doubt bright red, with a blush and the flush of the heat of the moment. He pulled back and ducked his head into the crook of Mikkel's neck to give himself a second to breathe.

And somehow it felt like something set into place, and all he could think was a steady chant of " _Finally, finally, finally_ ".

"Olie?" Mikkel whispered, which was absurd in the quiet room. "Oliver, is this-- are you okay?"

Oliver let out a puff of air, almost a laugh, against Mikkel's collar bone. "I was going to ask you that."

He pulled himself back just in time to catch a look pass across Mikkel's face, frustratingly unreadable. He put a little more distance between them, half afraid he'd start kissing him again just to avoid any of the negative things that might come of his mouth in the next few seconds.

"I really really like you..."

'But...' Olie mentally added.

"Like **really** like you, Oliver. Since the moment we met."

'But...'

"And moving in with you was almost too easy. It felt like moving home, even within the first few days. It just felt right."

He swallowed, fortifying himself. "But?"

"But I have a kid, and I don't know where my career is going. I've been in Texas; I come back. I feel like I'm juggling more balls than I can count on my best days."

Oliver reflexively settled back into the couch, moving another few inches from Mikkel. Mikkel, who was making an annoyingly valid point, one he couldn't even fault him for. He wiped his sweaty palms along his sleep pants and kept his eyes averted.

"I get that," he sighed. "I totally get that. It's okay."

Mikkel laid his head back against the cushions and stared at the ceiling. "You don't, actually. And it's not."

"What?"

"I've been so focused on just being a parent of a four-year-old for so fucking long, man." Mikkel blew out a long sigh. "Since the moment she was put in my arms. One hundred percent. And I'm not even complaining one bit here, it's been amazing. Like, a little human being that I get to claim as my own, who is sweet, and awesome, and I raised her. All that and I'm in the NHL, the freaking _NHL_. I've been so lucky I haven't even thought outside of that, haven’t let myself do that.. And then I meet you and I … want. I want this. But I don't know if I can handle all of it and yet why am I thinking of this like that? I'm the luckiest guy. Any number of things could have gone wrong and yet I get to be here. And I'm thankful. But..."

Oliver held up a hand. "Slow down Mikkel, slow down."

Mikkel took a breath, and then another one. His face, which had been red, slowly faded back to a normal hue, and Oliver put his hand carefully on Mikkel’s chest to feel for the heartbeat that was still way too fast.

“You want this?”

Mikkel’s nod was quick, his jaw tight.

“But you can’t… have… all of the things you think go with this.”

He looked away and Oliver tried to not read into it too much.

“So we take it slow, yeah? Who says we have to be anything more than what we want it to be?”

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” Mikkel finally broke in. “I don’t want to hurt you, I just. Can’t. I can’t give you anything more than… this.”

And Oliver knew that it would hurt him, he knew this would break him in the end. He wasn’t that dumb, but he also knew he was in deep enough that it didn’t matter. That he would take what he could get and that in the end he wouldn’t regret it for one moment.

“How about you show me a little more of this?” Oliver smiled, tilted his head and nipped at the place on Mikkel’s neck that he seemed to like.

Mikkel’s smile was tentative, but he seemed to go along with it. Later, though they both left a little unsatisfied, Oliver fell asleep feeling the best he had felt in a while.

*  
By some silent agreement, they didn’t talk about things until after practice the next day. And by “talk about it,” they really didn’t talk. Rather, Mikell pushed Olie against the wall in the front room.

They both smelled like the shampoo at the Arena, which was something that was probably going to make showering difficult in the future. Oliver shoved his nose into the base of Mikkel's neck and inhaled, reveling in the shampoo, the lingering scent of sweat. He nipped at a vein and Mikkel shivered.

"Olie," he exhaled, and pulled at Oliver's hair to bring him in for a kiss, which quickly turned into tongues and lips and hands in hair. It'd been less than twenty-four hours since they'd last kissed but it might as well have been twenty-four days. Oliver had just enough sense of mind to pull back long enough to find the couch and make them head towards it, stumbling and laughing like idiots.

They fell onto the couch, and somehow Oliver ends up on his back, with Mikkel above him. Oliver always liked looking at Mikkel, but this was something different. He'd kept his eyes averted for most of the day, afraid someone would be able to see the two of them looking at each other and know everything, so he let himself hyper focus on the details. The bright blue eyes, the small dimples in his cheeks, the light-light freckles that were almost everywhere.

"What?"

Oliver blushed. "Nothing."

He stalled any need to answer by putting his hand on the base of Mikkel's neck and pulling him down. This was probably stupid, the stupidest thing that either of them could do, but it didn't matter. It had been building for so long, been something that Oliver had wanted so much. He wasn't going to let his questioning and his general fear take away even an instant of this.

Mikkel ground his hips down and Oliver felt his whole body respond, arching upwards. They both let out low groans.

"Jeans," Oliver said. "Jeans are not a good idea."

Mikkel turned away and Oliver felt his stomach drop, but when he looked back he had a huge grin on his face. "We've got the house to ourselves for an hour at least."

Oliver fumbled towards his own jean's button and then zipper, feeling like he'd just left the ice and his fingers were stupid with cold and adrenaline. He wasn't too embarrassed, however, as Mikkel was having a similar problem. Mikkel had the advantage, though, pushing off the couch to shuck off his jeans while Oliver had to push himself up and shimmy his jeans down his body. With a laugh Mikkel helped by pulling with Oliver.

"This would be easier if your jeans weren't painted on," Mikkel chided. "But then again, I've always appreciated the view."

"Like yours are any better. Very distracting during scrums, watching you put yours on."

His jeans were finally off and discarded onto the pile. "And you blame your English skills."

Mikkel lowered himself back on top of Oliver and any jokes were lost to kisses and grinding, alternating between hard and playful. Oliver let himself do the things he'd been to scared the night before, biting at Mikkel's neck and shoulder, kissing along Mikkel's jaw line. Mikkel licked a stripe up the side of Oliver's neck and bit the lobe of his ear.

Having spent so long joking that Mikkel kept the house at sub zero temperatures, Oliver felt too hot. He pushed on Mikkel's chest and made a valiant attempt at taking off his own shirt, even though he was entirely lust-stupid. Mikkel helped, his hands on the edges of Oliver’s shirt. He thanked God when it came off with one tug, and then again when Mikkel took his off.

He wasn't stupid, he'd seen Mikkel with his shirt off more times than he could actually think to count. In the morning making breakfast, in the pool tossing Eleanor around, and in every locker room in the National Hockey League, but he'd never actually let himself _look_. And holy fuck, he was glad to be able to look. He let his fingers trace along each of Mikkel's abs, watched as they flexed as Mikkel let out a low laugh. Oliver went up onto his elbows, and with the agility he'd spent years on for the ice, flipped them both over.

"Ooof," Mikkel let out a breath of air as he hit the couch. "No fair, Oliver."

Oliver ignored him, and scooted down to let his mouth kiss Mikkel's naked chest, to lick one of Mikkel's nipples (he appreciated the way it made Mikkel arch, mentally noted the fact and moved on), and then back to the abs. He licked the defined lines, then made his tongue flat when it reached his belly button.

“Gudskelov.” Mikkel threaded fingers through Oliver’s hair and not-so-gently pulled. Oliver licked at the faint line of hairs going down, taking his time as Mikkel muttered what sounded like encouragements in Danish above him. He pulled the boxers down slightly and nuzzled where the hair spread out, liking the way it smelled of sweat and sex and Mikkel. He was just about to urge Mikkel to lift his hips when a loud click brought both of their attentions to the door.

“Hvad fanden?”

Mads was frozen, his gear bag over one shoulder, and the door to the front walk wide open.

Mikkel looked like he might actually burn from the redness of his face, he pushed at Oliver desperately, and when his brain finally came online Oliver complied by getting up and covering himself with whoever's clothes were closest. It was silent, eerily so. Mads looked like he was either going to scream or laugh and Oliver felt like he might join in either way.

"You guys couldn't have done this in either of your rooms? There are two of them. TWO of them," Mads finally said, his voice strangely even for someone in his place.

Oliver thought that that was, in fact, a fair point, just not one he had thought of in the moment.

"You were at PT. You weren't supposed to be home for at least another hour," Mikkel said.

Mads threw his bag to the ground. "My therapist thought I was pushing myself too hard. Can you get dressed? Cause this would feel far less weird if I wasn't looking at how hard your dick is."

They both put their shirts on, Oliver grabbed the wrong pants first, and then they had an awkward moment of having to switch, which included both bucking their hips, and Mikkel making a noise that was not helping Oliver get rid of any evidence of what had just happened. Mads had his hands on his hips and his eyes skyward, continually made annoyed noises. After a minute or two they were back to being clothed, if a bit rumpled. He felt kind of like he'd been caught by his parents again, but with the added joy of a guy who he'd shared sex stories with not even a week beforehand.

"Mads, you are not going to make this weird."

Mads eyes flicked back to his brother. "Oh, **I'm** not going to make this weird? **I'm** not. Okay. No. I will not. But you know who will? You two dumbasses. Did this start before we moved in?"

Oliver shook his head. "It's kind of ... new."

"Oh, awesome. New. Did you think about this? Did you think about ANY of this? I mean. Let's even leave Eleanor out of this equation, which we will get back to in a minute, but... What if this gets out? Mikkel, I've watched you work your ass off to get where you are, and you’re risking it for tail? No offense, Oliver…”

"Wait, wait." Mikkel put his hands up. "First off, fuck you. Secondly, no seriously... fuck you. But third, this-- we aren't exchanging rings here, Mads. We're not even dating."

Mads gaped at him. "Please. Please tell me you don't think that makes this better."

"You know what it does make it?" 

"What the fuck does it make it?"

"None of your fucking business."

Oliver watched the weird form of verbal tennis between the brothers, not even bothering to try and get involved. It was beyond apparent he wasn't needed in the conversation.

"None of my business? Your business IS my business! Or did you forget that I moved to America for you? That I moved here to help you build your CAREER that you are so casually fucking playing with right now. Fuck, that we all live together. I'm two doors down from you fuckers. I don't want to hear this coming all night long."

Mikkel's face was, somehow, getting redder and redder. "You have no right to act like I am not aware of the consequences. The entire reason that we are keeping this..." he flipped his hand between himself and Oliver "... thing between us as just casual is because we know the consequences."

Oliver really did want to interject then that he didn't think the consequences outweighed the possibilities, that he wanted more, but he was okay with Mikkel not being okay with it, if it meant he was allowed to have time with Mikkel. But the look on both of the other men's faces told him that that little nugget of information would not go over well with the rest of the room, so when Mads looked at him like he wanted some confirmation Oliver just gave a tight nod.

"We're good here."

Mads laughed. "Oh yeah. I totally think that is true." He put his hands up. "Well fuck me. If this is so important to you, and you are so ready for it, so be it, but don't come crying to me when this all comes tumbling down. And I swear to God if you make me move out of this place I will beat you both down, bad shoulders or not. I like this neighborhood; there are single rich women everywhere and my accent is 'cute'. Not that that apparently matters to either of you."

He grabbed his bag and headed back towards the bedrooms.

"Your daughter is going to be home in an hour, I'm going to take a shower. Maybe you should move it to your room. Preferably the one farthest from me."

Mikkel looked at Oliver but they both knew that the mood was gone.

Fuck.

*  
Three days later they were on the road in New York. There had been no time when they were at home, not with Mads watching them like a mother fucking hawk, and yelling every time he walked into the building. Even more frustrating, though possibly more or less helpful, Eleanor thought it hilarious to do the same thing. She walked around the house yelling "I'M HERE," followed by "NO HANKY PANKY!" in English and later saying, "SPECIAL HYGGE?" when Mads seemingly told the _four-year-old_ that her Far and Oliver liked to have 'special' cuddling time. 

(Oliver usually thought most of Mads thought it was funny, but telling the four-year-old that lived in the house even a thing about what he and her father got up to made him actually want to punch him in the face. More than once. Especially because it totally ruined the concept of hygge, which now made him think of things not comfortable to think of in a family cuddle.) 

They got to their hotel rooms, which weren't next to each other, but near enough that he was relieved to find it effortless for them to ease into one room with no one noticing. 

No one interrupted them that time. 

*  
The weirdness of the situation was how little had changed. 

They got up, went to work, and worked out. Game days they took a nap (together now, which was nice) and got in his car. Oliver drove, as always. They went to dinner. They played with Eleanor. They traveled, a lot, always seated next to one another and talking. No one seemed to notice the difference at all. 

Except, at the end of each day, they fell into bed together, either to fuck like bunnies (which was honestly more often than not on the road) or to just curl up and fall asleep. Oliver had honestly expected that the nights they didn't have sex would end with them in separate beds but Mikkel didn't seem to have that problem, his body curling up around Oliver's like a very persistent squid or curling into him, silently insisting to be wrapped up in Olie's arms. It was exactly what he wanted but... not quite. 

Mikkel had the tendency to remind him, casually, just at the point that he thought their 'thing' was progressing to something more than just a 'thing', that it was not. At all. Not even a little. He would tease Oliver when they were at a bar about the girl who was checking him out, or at the guy who Oliver had apparently checked out as he walked by. He would call Oliver his 'wingman' to their teammates, which was altogether unnecessary, and even more so just insulting as they _weren't_ picking people up. 

(Also, though he would never really point it out to Mikkel, the team called them 'married' more often than not and even the people who worked at the Arena joked about them being each other's WAGs.) 

But Oliver took what he was given and appreciated it. He let himself soak up the time that MIkkel would give him, which was almost all of it. Eleanor had begun to insist that any and all hygge's included him, as he was _her_ Olie and she liked it that way. Even Mads slowly softened to the fact that they weren't platonic roommates any longer. On some nights that they had off, Mads would shoo them out of the house, telling them he needed time with Eleanor, even though he got plenty of that when they were on the road. 

So they found restaurants that became theirs, and saw movies in the theaters, with Mikkel helping him with most of the English, though Oliver had to concede that he was understanding more and more. (The speaking bit was just a little nerve wracking.) 

When his mother would call she'd tell him he sounded so happy, told him she was so glad that he'd found that there. She'd ask him if he'd found someone, if he was dating. He would always tell her no, even if it always felt like a lie. 

*  
The day that Oliver realized he was in entirely too deep was not even a day he spent with either Mikkel or Eleanor. In fact, the entire point was that he didn't spend the day with them. Ellie had a play date with one of her friends from school, which Mikkel decided to take her to, and Mads was off like a gunshot down to the rink to get some practice of his own in, so for the first time in a while Olie had the whole house to himself.

He thought idly about walking around in his boxers and drinking milk straight from the carton. He thought about maybe calling some of the teammates and getting rowdy, or hell, even going to play golf, even though he was sure he'd burn to a crisp with his lily-white skin. But instead, he sat on the couch in his sleep pants and a grey shirt that he couldn't quite remember who it belonged to. (Probably Mikkel; it felt a little too loose.)

The TV had nothing of interest to him, even with the package that gave them essentially a billion channels. None of the movies he'd brought from home or bought while he was there felt appealing.

Even with the ability to sleep in he'd woken up at 7:30, it wasn't quite ten in the morning, and he was "gnaw his own arm off to escape" bored. He felt like climbing out of his skin. The maid had been there the day before, and Ellie hadn't quite had the chance to wreck havoc so he cleaned up, but it took all of thirty minutes. It was almost infuriating.

He got into his car, ignored the car seat in his rear view mirror, backed out, and turned his car towards the first place he could think of.

Keirland Commons was one of his favorite places to go, it had great food, good shops and this weird feeling of pure anonymity. It wasn't like he got hounded, or even really recognized much, but in general Keirland was usually busy enough and populated by suburban moms who liked to keep to themselves or were too busy rounding up their children to pay attention to a guy in a grey henley and baseball hat.

He wandered around, enjoying the way the air was just barely chilled (in Sweden, they would laugh at him straight in his face to even think this was cold) and the sun was out. He loved the way it smelled, the sounds, and the business. He thought about lunch and thought about going to the little restaurant in the buildings across the street, True Foods, the one that would keep his trainers happy but also be enjoyable for him.

"LILY!" A woman's voice shrieked, catching his attention in a way that set his heart to a higher beat. He turned to see a woman carrying about a dozen bags and a tiny little girl running gleefully away... and towards the tiny street. His stomach dropped and he felt his body move on instinct.

He was much closer than the woman and his legs were longer. He reached the little girl just as a Mercedes Benz turned the corner a little too fast. There were probably 50 feet (plenty of space) but his whole body went rigid, and he turned her to take the brunt of any impact, which never came.

The woman reached him moments later, bags long forgotten on the sidewalk. "Lillian Grace, oh my god. Oh my god."

Oliver handed her over, because, well. Of course he did. The guy in the Benz started to honk, which startled the already shaken up little girl, and she began to cry. Olie reminded himself that flicking the driver off would not be the best idea and instead helped lead the mom to back to the sidewalk.

"You can't do that, you can't do that, you can NEVER do that." The woman was shaking. "Do you understand? I can't lose you. I can't... Lily bug. Lily love. I can't... you scared mommy. You SCARED ME." She kissed her daughter all over her face, on the tips of her ears, and the top of her head.

The girl was looking at her mother with wide blue eyes, and Oliver realized he was intruding on a moment, but he couldn't make himself leave. He felt like every time he was on ice during a game, every time the clock was running out. His body was made of pure adrenaline. He knew he should leave. He knew a lot of things but it wasn't changing what he was doing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and cursed the fact that he really didn't have enough English to say more.

The mom snapped to attention and looked at him. "Oh my god. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

He felt the base of his neck go hot. "You are welcome. I am glad she is not hurt."

The woman hugged him, possibly a little too tight, and thanked him a few more times. He finally turned around and walked away.

But he couldn't shake the feeling of something wrong; of his whole body being taut with tension that hadn't been solved by knowing the little girl was fine. He put his hand in his pockets and headed to the parking structure. He wasn't very hungry anymore. He felt around in his pocket to find his phone and opened a text before he could think better.

"Are you coming home soon?" he sent to Mikkel.

The little "..." started, and after a minute it opened to say, "Yeah, on the way. Ellie is cranky. Cross fingers, might get an actual nap."

He reached his car and hopped in. He didn't live that far, he could make it home in time. He tried to take it slow, but his foot was possibly laid down a little more than usual.

He beat Mikkel home by less than a minute.

Mikkel held a finger to his lip when he got out, whispering even though it wasn't really necessary. "She's out."

"I'll move her!" Olie called before Mikkel even got a chance to open the door to the back seat. He looked a little shocked, but shrugged and pointed towards the back seat.

"Be my guest. You wake her, you put her back to bed."

He'd done it once or twice before, though, so he slipped her out with ease and her little head lolled against his shoulder with even puffs of air against his neck. When he got her to her room he hesitated in the doorway, his eyes closed and doing his best to match the way she was breathing. He felt Mikkel's hand on his lower back as he laid her down in her bed, putting her Banny in reaching distance before meeting Mikkel back in the hallway.

"You okay?"

Oliver leaned his head in the crook of Mikkel's neck and inhaled.

"Now I am."

A hand reached to cup the back of his head and brush along the edge of his hair line.

And suddenly he knew in that instant he wasn’t okay.

He was totally fucked.

*  
Almost making it to the postseason was a definite let down, but left the team charged for the next year. Two days after the season ended for them, they all collectively met at the Doans' house, as was tradition, and instead of feeling like a funeral, it felt like a birthday. There were cries of "NEXT YEAR!" followed by copious amounts of beer and food and fun. 

Eleanor chased after Carson, like usual, gleefully screaming as his siblings tried to help her catch him. Mixed with the beer, Oliver felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the Arizona sun. Mikkel was mid conversation with Hanzal, discussing the heat and each other’s plans for the summer. Oliver was just barely listening when he honed in on Mikkel's plans. 

"Yeah, we leave on Thursday. We're going to stay with my family for the first month. Ellie has been begging to see her Farmor." 

Without thinking about it, he broke in in Swedish. "You're leaving Thursday?" 

Mikkel frowned, and responded in English. "Yes, Mads leaves tonight, actually but we leave on Thursday." 

Hanzal looked at Oliver. "You okay?" 

"Yes, yes. I'm sorry. I forgot myself," he forced a laugh. "One beer and I'm back in Sweden. Even crappy Canadian beer." 

From somewhere behind him he heard Shane call, "Heard that, Ekman-Larsson! HEARD THAT!" 

Mikkel wouldn't look at Oliver suddenly, but Oliver kept looking at him. Waiting for him to respond with something different. 

Yes, they hadn't made any real plans for the summer, but he'd figured they were not trying to curse anything. He'd gotten that. They were so close to the end. They just had to win a few more games, work a little harder. He hadn't even thought about what he was going to do in the summer. But had he thought about it, what he would have thought about included Mikkel. Hell, he would have at least TALKED about it with Mikkel rather than just... make plans. That didn't include him at all. Because. Because... that's what you did. 

"I'm going to go get more beer," Hanzal said, making no reference at all to the rather full bottle he had in his hand. 

There was a pregnant pause before Mikkel turned towards him and said, in low overly calm Swedish, "What is your problem?" 

"You're leaving on Thursday, are you?" 

"Well, yeah. I promised my parents I'd go home." 

"For a month?" 

Mikkel took a swig of his beer. "Yeah, probably. Why does it matter?" 

Oliver felt suddenly, painfully cold. He could feel his finger grip tighten around the bottle and his free hand ball into a fist at his side. 

' _Why does it matter?_ ' 

Oliver knew that if he tried to respond, no matter the language, the entirety of the team would get his meaning. (He was already aware of the teammates in the vicinity looking at him.) He nodded, tightly and then turned around, headed straight for the door. His brain was clear, even if he had felt buzzed even a minute beforehand, but he couldn't take his car. That's where Ellie's carseat was. 

"Hey, Oliver," Shane came jogging up behind him. "You okay, man?" 

He swallowed a few times. "Yes, I do not feel so good. Do you think you could call me a cab? I don't want to take Eleanor home when she is having fun." 

"I can drive you, you don't live too far." 

"No no, you don't have to do that..." 

Shane waved him off. "Whatever man, let me do this. Do you need something? Water? Think you might get sick?" 

He did feel a little nauseated, but not like he would puke. "Just too much heat and beer, I guess." 

From the corner of his eye he saw Mikkel walk in: the one thing he really wanted to avoid. He turned just enough to make eye contact. 

"Hey, Shane's going to give me a ride back," he said, deliberately in English. He dug in his pockets and took the key fob off of his key set. "You stay here, take Eleanor when she gets tired. Don't want to ruin her fun." 

Mikkel startled as the key hit his palm. He went into Swedish. "Oliver, what the hell?" 

Oliver stayed in English, and tried his best to sound relaxed, even if he felt like a coil being slowly tightened. "I'll see you later, okay?" 

Shane, who was not as oblivious as Oliver had silently prayed, put his hand on Oliver's shoulder. "You ready, man?" 

He nodded and followed as Shane headed towards the door. He didn't miss the look that Shane sent Mikkel over his shoulder. 

*  
A couple hours later Mikkel entered the building with a sleeping Eleanor on his shoulder. Oliver had been on the couch, staring at the blank space around him. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the TV; hadn’t even noticed it wasn’t on until he looked from the blank screen to Mikkel’s tense face. Mikkel put a finger to his lips, like Oliver had suddenly forgotten the basic tenants of taking care of children. 

This was going to be barrels of fun. He could tell. 

When Mikkel got out of his line of sight, Oliver was on his feet, wide strides taking him to the kitchen and the fridge. Because fuck it, he could use a freaking beer. He thought about leaving with just one, out of spite, but thought better at the last second. The last thing he wanted to come off as was some stupid kid here. 

He and Mikkel walked into the main room at the same time. Oliver handed him the beer, not really looking away but forgoing eye contact unless absolutely necessary. He’d been thinking about this for three hours; he wasn’t going to fuck it all up by letting emotions get in the way. 

“People noticed that you left early,” Mikkel started. 

“I told Doaner it was the heat and beer. If anyone else has a problem with me leaving they can text me.” 

Mikkel sat forcibly on the couch. “Do you want me to text you to see what your problem was?” 

“When were you going to tell me you were going back to Copenhagen?” Oliver had too much energy to sit. Instead, he stood a few feet away and tried to quell the urge to fidget. Grown up, rational. 

“That’s what this is about? I was going to tell you tomorrow, or maybe tonight. Figured we could get you on the same flight to Jersey before you head home.” 

Before he really thought it through he let out, “So, I did come to mind in this equation?” 

Which. Wasn’t the way he wanted to go. He didn’t want to be the jilted wife on a soap opera or in one of his mother’s tattered romance novels. But… he wasn’t thinking clearly. Fuck the forethought. His whole stomach hurt. 

Mikkel genuinely laughed. 

_Fuck_.

“Oliver, what the hell man? I’m going home, so are you. Where else would we go? You’re being stupid.” 

He inhaled quickly and exhaled slowly. “I thought, _stupidly_ , that we would work out the summer together somehow. I thought maybe you’d want to visit family like, _together_.” 

Mikkel was on his feet in one swift move. “You **are not** my boyfriend, Oliver.” 

And there it was. The words that Oliver had somehow known he needed to hear. 

He wasn’t. That was certainly crystal clear now. He pinched the bridge of his nose, because the last thing that he wanted to do was something stupid, like cry, even if the feeling prickled painfully at the back of his eyes. 

“You’re right. I… I don’t know what I was even thinking.” 

Mikkel had deflated somewhat from the time he stood up. “Olie, it’s not like that…” 

“No, it is,” he broke in. “It was my mistake, mine entirely. You were clear with your intentions from the start. I just … I misread things. But maybe it’s better if we stop.” 

“What do you mean STOP?” Mikkel’s voice went up an octave.

Oliver had this part planned out at least, and if he just looked away he could keep it together for another minute or two. “Us. Just. We can go back to what we were. Before.” 

“Olie, that isn’t what I want.” 

“But it’s what _I_ want,” he said. “I mean you can still live here. Of course you can. I don’t want to take away from Ellie’s routine and I would still want to…” 

He was losing control on his last bits of dignity, he could feel it. “I don’t want her to get hurt because…” 

“Far?” a sleepy looking four-year-old arrived at the edge of the hallway, still half dressed in her clothes from the day. She said something in Danish and Mikkel went to her immediately. 

He picked her up and cuddled her against his chest. “Nothing is wrong Aeling, nothing at all. Far and Olie are just talking.” 

“Why are you sad MinOlie?” she asked over Mikkel’s shoulder. 

“I don’t feel well,” he lied. “Don’t worry, I’ll feel better tomorrow.” 

She dug her head into her father’s shoulder. “Make him soup, Far. And fizzy drinks.” 

“I will, Aeling. Now time for bed.” 

“Good night MinOlie,” she said, sleep slurring the words together. 

Oliver couldn’t make his mouth move to tell her goodnight. 

Mikkel came out a moment later, a look of determination on his face. Oliver was ready though. 

“I’m going to bed.” 

“Oliver, it’s 8 at night,” Mikkel put his hands over his chest, trying to block the hallway. “And we aren’t finished talking.” 

Oliver deked left and went right. Mikkel never could catch him. 

He made it to his room and locked the door behind him. 

There really wasn’t much left to say. 

*  
In the end, they set it up so that the first leg of their flight, from Phoenix to Newark, was the same. Mikkel said it was completely unnecessary, but Oliver knew the relief in his eyes that he wasn’t doomed to the WHOLE trip alone with a four-year-old, and truth be told Oliver didn’t quite want to let go just yet.

Eleanor spent the beginning of the flight coloring, while keeping up a pretty steady conversation with Olie about all the things she was going to see when she got to Farfar and Farmor’s house. She slid easily between languages, so Olli couldn’t catch it all, but enough to know she was going to be completely spoiled rotten by the time she got back at the end of the summer.

(As she should be.)

When the cart came through with a snack, Eleanor ate it quickly, like she didn’t have a bag chock-full of snacks. She also asked very politely for a “Chocylet Milk”, causing the flight attendant to beam at her and not even ask either Mikkel or Olli if it was okay to supply her with sugar.

She insisted on a straw, but not in her sippy cup because she was four and that meant she was big and didn’t NEED a sippy cup. Mikkel kept nervously grabbing at the bottle anytime it looked like she was even mildly disinterested in it and Olli hid his laughter behind sips of the beer he’d ordered.

To her credit, she didn’t spill a drop, and when she was finished she shoved the bottle at her father and made a frustrated grunt at her backpack.

“What do you want, Aeling?” Mikkel asked, leaning over to open it up. “Another snack? Book? Ipad?”

“Tep, tak!”

Mikkel looked surprised but grabbed the old tattered remains of her blanket and gave it to her as requested. Oliver watched as she carefully tucked her blanket under one hand, shoved his arm off of his armrest to move it up and then laid her head against his thigh. She let out a long sigh and stretched her tiny legs along the chair to rest on Mikkel’s lap, closed her eyes and fell asleep.

The sense of ache in his chest, the one he’d been doing his level best to ignore, or to at least keep at bay until he got on the flight to Sweden alone, was suddenly so large it felt like it might very well break a rib. He turned his head to the aisle, in hopes that Mikkel might at least pretend not to see his eyes water.

He put one of his hands on the top of her head and tried to slowly brush her hair while not waking her up. He caught Mikkel looking at him but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, as there was nothing really left to be said.  
*  
Thankfully, or not, Eleanor was still pretty groggy when they separated in New Jersey so the goodbye was tearful but brief. She made him promise to call her and he told her he would try his best. (He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her or to explain to a four-year-old why it would hurt too much to call her when her father obviously thought of him as just a friend with benefits.)  
He gave Mikkel a nod and slipped his headphones over his ears without a goodbye.

*  
The first week back in Sweden was what it always has been: a whirlwind. When you know every person in town, you don't get the chance to actually breathe when it's been months since every person who you passed has to tell you what you've missed in the past year that you were away. Not to mention that the people he'd been talking to about making his own clothing line were actually extremely serious about it, and as such, he was receiving emails nearly every hour with requests and designs, and it was all a bit overwhelming, but exciting, so he wasn’t complaining.

The lull did come though, at about day ten, when his mom had decided that he wasn’t so thin he would drop, and his dad had seen to it that he knew that he wasn’t requesting him joining in at practice for the mite league, but demanding it. Kevin had actually grown since the last time Oliver had seen him, and hanging out with your older brother just didn’t hold the right kind of appeal when there were girls following him around. Oliver, for all of his complaining, found he got anxious and bored faster than he ever had before.

He woke in the morning expecting someone to wake him with godawful morning breath kisses. He picked up the TV remote and thought about what cartoons would be suitable. He caught sight of a picture his parents had of him and Mikkel framed on the wall, from some newspaper (how they even got that was beyond him) and his heart felt a little too large for his chest. Hell, watching a game made him even miss Mads, as he couldn’t stand the fact that there was no one there to make loud obnoxious comments about how he could have totally made that deke work, how much their power play sucked...

Homesick. He was so blindingly homesick that nothing felt right.

From Denmark he mostly got radio silence. Once he got a text, late late at night, from a slightly drunk Mikkel regaling him with a half understandable story spoken with interlacing languages. (He swore he caught the phrase "The Buddha is erect" but maybe he was losing his ability to get English correct.) He got a picture of Ellie, one that was just captioned, "She says that you needed to see her hair." For the record, the hair was godawful, lopsided pig-tails and obviously done by someone who didn't know what they were doing. He'd sent a picture of him giving a huge thumb up and smile. He made her photo his lock screen.

His mom was always giving him a side-glance it seemed, not even bothering to look abashed when he caught her. He tried to fiddle with his phone the least amount possible, but he never could get anything past her, so why he bothered was a mystery.

"Do you have something to tell me?"

No. He had a lot of things to tell her. He had a whole list that could go on for hours and hours. But that wasn't something he could do when he wasn't quite sure what it even stemmed from. Mikkel had asked to keep it as simple as possible, and he knew exactly why. They were both young, the possibility of trades were too big, and there were more than just the two of them to think about. Everything made logical sense.

"When I do have something, you'll be the first to know," he offered, his smile practically pinging with it's saccharine falsehood. She put her hand on one hip and clucked her tongue, but let him be after that.

What he really wanted, what he _needed_ , was to just call Mikkel. It was absurd that he hadn't. It wasn’t like they were on any kind of break. How they could be on a break when they were trying to keep things "not complicated"? But from the slightly (okay, extremely) pathetic social network stalking he'd been doing, Mikkel had been keeping himself pretty busy, and Oliver never wanted to bug him.

*  
Oliver had a spot in his front yard that he'd always used as a space to breathe. It wasn't something he really had to tell his family; his mom had caught on quite early and his dad wasn't much for talking. When he'd really left his home for the first time, Kevin had only been a kid, more interested in riding bikes, and getting into kid-level trouble with the neighborhood children when he wasn't finding time to be on the ice. So the space was Olie's.

Except for when it wasn't, apparently.

"Hey," Kevin sat down next to him, all long limbs and awkwardness at age 17. (How did his baby brother get to be 17?)

"Hey?"

Kevin kicked at the dirt with his sneakers and didn't make eye contact. "So, Mom asked me to come out and subtly find out why you're moping."

Oliver really laughed for the first time since he'd been home. "She really said that?"

"More or less," he shrugged. "She kept looking out the window and making that weird noise she makes when she's anxious, and when I asked if she was going to talk to you, she said she couldn't, because this was your, like... place, or whatever. But then she said that maybe I could, but not pressure you into talking or anything."

Olie rolled his eyes. "Well, at least you're honest."

"Eh," Kevin rubbed at his face. "It was either quick and vaguely painless, or drawn out and more awkward. Lesser of two evils."

Oliver couldn't help but think about the way Mads and Mikkel were together. The easy way they bantered, and the way that neither of them seemed to ever feel awkward around each other. (Even after the unfortunate pantsless incident that they DID NOT TALK ABOUT.) Kevin had been so young when he’d left that he really didn't feel like he knew him. Yeah, they talked on the phone occasionally, usually when forced; Kevin liked to follow his career, even without his mother's constant updates. 

Kevin was looking increasingly uncomfortable. Oliver let out a sigh.  
"I kind of met someone this year. Someone who means a lot to me."  
"... and?"  
"And it turns out I might not mean the same to them."

Kevin huffed. "That all? I mean. Dude. You're in the NHL, there are probably other girls you can find... Or. Um. Guys I guess?"

Oliver had never been subtle about his choices in the past, especially not around his family, but it was still a little off-putting to hear his brother say it so bluntly. "It's just a little bit more complicated than that."

"Dude, did you get some chick pregnant?"

Oliver couldn't help it, he laughed so loud that a dog a little up the road started barking like crazy. He kept laughing, in fact, until tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. He wiped at them and forced himself to just breathe, simply breathe.

"... you didn't, did you? Cause like. Mom will freak. I mean, maybe in a good way because babies, but you're twenty."

"I did not get anyone pregnant," Oliver assured his freaked out brother. He conveniently left out the fact that there was still a baby involved. Well. Not a baby. He tried to ignore the pang of missing Ellie.  
A long beat of silence before Kevin started again. "You didn't... Dude. Tell me you didn't fall for a teammate. You did NOT fall for a teammate."  
Oliver looked at his feet, any lingering urge to laugh long gone. When even your 17-year-old straight brother knew the one cardinal rule that you broke, it made you feel even more the fool in the situation. He waited to let his brother think it through. It took a surprisingly long time before he went on.  
"Well fuck, Olie."

"That isn't even the half of it."

"... _Your roommate_?"

He put his finger to his nose and nodded. He wondered again when his brother had gone from the boy who had everything go over his head to a really perceptive person.

Kevin stood up and wiped his hands along his jeans. Oliver gave him a curious look.

"What?" And then after a weird ping of panic. "You can't tell mom."

"I'm not a fucking moron, Olie," he offered him a hand up. "Though, if you don't tell her soon she is totally going to give you the guilt trip from hell. You know, you were six..."

"... Days late. Eighteen hours of labor..." Olie finished for him. He cleaned his jeans off and looked at his brother. "Then what?"

"This calls for a beer."

*  
His brain was barely functioning when he woke up after a good night’s sleep, so he couldn’t blame himself for not connecting the ringtone to who it was when he was woken up in the middle of the night. 

"She wants to see her," Mikkel said, without bothering to say hello.

Oliver rubbed his eye with the flat of his palm. "Who now?"

"Anna. She’s in town for a few days visiting family and she wants to meet Eleanor."

His brain snapped to attention. "I thought she gave away her rights?"

"She did," Mikkel exhaled across the line. "She has no legal right to her, really, but she asked if she could see her."

"What did you say?"

"I'd have to think about it. I told her it was a lot to ask."

Oliver forced himself up, but leaned back against the wall behind his bed. “It is a lot to ask for. She hasn’t seen Ellie since she was born though, so it might feel like not so much to her.”

“She signed away her rights. Ellie is mine.”

“I know, I know. She just… she wants to see her, not take her back.”

He could feel it being the wrong thing to say even before he heard the pained intake of breath along the phone line. “She. Can’t.”

“That isn’t what I was saying. She can’t, Meeks. She can’t take her back. I think everyone is clear on that.”

The line is silent for a long time, or maybe it’s just that it’s late at night and his brain is fuzzy, so time doesn’t entirely feel real. He didn’t ask why Mikkel called him; didn’t even point out that he’d not talked to him in three freaking weeks. Instead, he waited, listened as the breathing on the line became less ragged.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Tell me, Olie. Tell me what to do.”

Oliver rubbed his face with his free hand. “I don’t know either. On one hand, she did sign away her rights, and you don’t have to let her see her. But on the other side of this, without her, there would be no Eleanor. She hasn’t seen her her whole life, but at one point they shared air and food. It’s only been two years and I can’t imagine my life without…”

He’s gone too far again, but not for Mikkel, for himself. He knew he shouldn’t be saying these things, most of all on the phone. It wasn’t a conversation that was needed right now, especially with everything else that was going on.

“I can’t speak for her, but for what it’s worth, I think you probably should,” he finished. “Set up rules, only do what is comfortable but… one day Eleanor will want to know her story. Maybe letting her meet her mother would be good for her as well.”

There was a soft sigh across the phone, and he wished, not for the first time in three weeks, he knew what was going on in Mikkel’s brain. He wished he could see him, read what he wasn’t saying across his face.

“Okay.”

“Okay?’

“I’ll call her tomorrow. I will try and figure this out. But if you think Eleanor might need it… I guess I should at least give her that. For Ellie, not for Anna. Good night, Olie.”

He heard the dead noise of a phone call ending before he could respond, but did so either way.

“Night Mikkel.”

His laptop lay discarded by his bed; he picked it up and opened a new tab to look for a flight to Copenhagen.

*  
The reality of what he was doing didn't really hit Oliver until the pilot started to tell them about the weather in Copenhagen. Which was ridiculous, as he had been paying attention when he booked the flight, packed a bag that was too big for just overnight, and when he'd asked his brother to take him to the airport at a godawful time. (He was also paying attention when Kevin had informed him that he was a giant box of tools, and that if he didn't fix this, end this, or marry the dude by the time he came back, he was going to hit him square in the jaw. Which was fair. He had had to get up balls early, and he'd been listening to him bitch for about a week.)

But suddenly, the fact that it was a brisk summer day in Denmark hit him square in the face. Denmark. The place that Mikkel lived. Mikkel, who had zero idea that he'd booked the flight, or that he'd gotten on the plane. It was entirely insane. Like, beyond crazy. Even more than when Kevin had told him that, repeatedly. The lady next to him, who'd been blessedly quiet the whole flight, gave him a look.

"You okay, dear?" she asked.

"Uh. Yeah. Just anxious to get off the plane."

She smiled at him. "Been awhile since you've seen her?"

He blinked, almost saying 'Who?' before he realized that this dear old lady was just assuming that he was a love sick puppy. Which wasn't too far from the truth. He tried his best to smile along. "It's only been a month."

"She' a lucky girl."

They were in the process of standing up to get off the plane, thankfully, which meant that he could act busy enough getting packed and ready to ignore talking any longer. He figured that correcting pronoun usage might be not the best use of his time, even if he was suddenly really annoyed at the concept that she just assumed he was straight.

As they parted when they got off the plane she shouted one last, "Go get your girl!"

"I'll tell him you said so," he called back, then booked it off towards the front part of the airport. He thought about just taking a taxi, but realized, quite embarrassingly, that that would require knowing exactly what the address was. He fiddled with his phone for a moment, brought up Mikkel's number, and then backed out of it. He felt a little afraid of calling Mikkel, to find him not exactly wanting to have him come to visit. It wasn't like their phone call made up for the fight that they had left with.

He knew what he had to do, but he _really_ didn't want to do it. But it was either that, or stand there in the middle of the airport in a foreign country looking like a complete idiot.

He hit send on his phone, and pinched at the bridge of his nose with his free hand as it rang.

"What the fuck are you calling me for?" Mads answered, having obviously been woken up.

"Good morning Mads, it's awesome to hear from you as well," Oliver rolled his eyes.

Mads grunted at him. "You're on my shit list dude, and you know it. Do you know how often I've had to hear your name in the last few weeks?" He pitched his voice high, "'Where is Olie?' 'I miss Olie.'"

"Well, good news then. Ellie will be seeing her Olie today!"

"Who said I was talking about Ellie... wait, what?"

Oliver looked down at his bag at his feet and tried to ignore the possibilities from Mads’ comment. It was probably a joke. Mads _was_ a dick; he needed to remind himself of that. "I'm kind of at the airport right now?"

"How can you 'kind of' be at the airport?"

"Could you just give me an address?" He found that his fist was clenched at his side.

Mads let out a whoop. "You're not joking? Tell me you're not joking."

The voice above him was assumedly describing the rules of the Danish airport, so Oliver held his phone above his head for a long moment and then back to his ear. "Not joking. Address?"

"ABOUT FUCKING TIME!" Mads bellowed. "I'll text it to you. Get your ass over here, fucker."

Oliver sagged a little with relief. "Could you... uh. Not tell anyone?"

"Are you kidding me? I wouldn't dare. I'm making fucking popcorn for this."

"Awesome."

Mads hung up and Oliver hailed a cab.  
*  
The ride was pretty much endless, but he still felt like he arrived at the door far too soon. The gentleman driving had a fairly good grasp of Swedish, which was nice, and had talked the entire ride about the architecture, and the places that he thought that Oliver would like to visit. It was mostly background noise for him; blessed white noise that kept him just distracted enough that he didn’t want to jump out of the car and roll along the side of the road.

“This is it,” the man said, indicating a pale pink house in a row of houses. It looked like… well. Pretty much exactly what he’d imagined the house to look like.

Oliver handed him his credit card, which was getting quite the workout, and then thanked him as he got out of the car. His heartbeat was fast, like scoring in the last half second of the game fast, and his hand was shaking where it held his bag. This had made so much more sense at four this morning.

He walked the short distance to the door and knocked on it gently, waited a moment and then tried again harder. He heard a dog bark, but he couldn’t tell if it was from Mikkel’s house or a neighbor’s. His hand was at the ready to knock again when it started to open.

Mikkel’s voice was calling out something behind him but he couldn’t catch any of it. Too fast and way too Danish.  
“... Hvad fanden?”

Oliver tried for a smile and awkwardly opened his arms. “Uh. Hello?”

A blur of purple charged from behind Mikkel and suddenly Eleanor was in his arms.

“OLIVER YOU ARE HERE! MINOLIE IS HERE! FAR, OLIE IS HERE!”

“I can see that,” Mikkel said quietly.

Oliver closed his eyes and dropped his bag, clinging to Eleanor like a lifeline.

“Oh MinEllie, I missed you so.”

Eleanor pulled back and frowned at him. “I missed you too! You didn’t call! I missed you and missed you. So did Far. He missed you so much. Right Far? Right?”

Oliver locked eyes with Mikkel, who looked about as frozen with fear as he felt. Eleanor had turned to him though, obviously expecting a response, and Mikkel nodded. “Yes, I really did.”

“You were gone forever, but you’re here. And my birthday is soon. Are you here for my birthday?”

He startled; he hadn’t actually done the math, but he was here pretty close to it.

“Well, I couldn’t miss that a second year, could I?”

Eleanor let out a squeak of glee and then wiggled out of his arms and to the ground, running back into the house and screaming for Mads.

There was an awkward silence, broken a few times by sighs, and one of them opening their mouth with an attempt to say something that fell flat. He owed MIkkel an explanation, but he also felt like he was owed one, too. His, however, was far more immediately necessary.

“So, you sounded a little lost last night,” he said, looking anywhere but at Mikkel. ‘You sounded lost so I flew to a foreign country like a giant creeper?’

Suddenly, he was surrounded by familiar warm arms giving him probably too tight of a hug. He ducked his head forward and nuzzled the nape of Mikkel’s neck. The scent was so comforting that he felt his anxiety ebb considerably.

“ _Thank you_.”

He blushed as Mikkel pulled back, but he wasn’t the only one blushing.

“MADS,” Mikkel called over his shoulder, opening the door and ushering Oliver in. “Guess who came to visit?”

Mads was sprawled out on a large old couch barely feet from the front door, with a shit eating grin on his face and, no joke, popcorn in a bowl. Eleanor was happily stealing some of it, and kicking her feet back and forth, staring at both her father and Oliver.

“Well, isn’t this a total surprise,” Mads said sarcastically.

Mikkel narrowed his eyes as he looked between the two of them.

“How the hell do you think he got here, you idiot? The power of your _bond_ guided him? He needed an address.”

Mikkel turned towards Oliver. “Why did you ask Mads? I could have given it to you.”

‘I didn’t think you would want to see me,’ didn’t quite seem to have a ring to it, nor did reminding him the last time they’d really seen each other had involved a fight, so he shrugged. “Thought it could be a nice surprise?”

“I get a surprise today!” Eleanor called out happily.

Oliver walked over towards her and knelt down. “Besides me?”

She nodded fervently. “Yes. Far has a friend who he says wants to meet me. She’s coming over to take me for a walk.”

“Is that so?” he kept it light, but one look at Mikkel let him know just how heavy the topic was for everyone else in the room. Even Mads seemed to react instantly to the comment, his smile dimming.

Mikkel looked at him. “She called an hour ago. She’s only in town for a few days, so I said she could have an hour today.”

“When is she coming?”

“Twelve.”

He looked at the time on his phone; it read ‘11:20’. His heartbeat seemed to get a little faster.

Oblivious to the room’s mood, Eleanor grabbed Oliver’s hand. “We were going to have lunch. Do you want to have lunch? Far was going to make peanut butter and jelly, but we have cream cheese if you want.”

He let her lead him into a small kitchen, Mikkel in tow.  
*  
Thirty minutes later it was just him, Mikkel, and Eleanor seated in the front room. The TV was on but he couldn’t tell you what was playing even if he was paid to do so. Mikkel’s leg was fidgeting and he was clearly beyond agitated, the mood bleeding over to Eleanor who was snug between them, clinging to her Far’s side like a lifeline.

“Maybe you should go wash Eleanor up a bit, maybe put a bow in her hair,” Oliver offered, anything to just break the silence of them staring at the moving images on screen and _not talking_ about the elephant in the room.

Mikkel looked at Eleanor and frowned. “Yes. I think. Yeah, Ellie let’s go get washed up for your walk. Does that sound good?”

She mimicked her dad’s frown and Oliver marveled at how similar it was. Instead of answering, she stood up and started to walk towards some back room.

They were barely gone for a full minute when there was a tentative knock at the door. Oliver almost shouted for Mikkel to come and get it, but instead stood up and answered it for himself. Maybe he could be a barrier between the awkwardness.

A petite blonde stood there and tilted her head when she saw Oliver.

“You must be looking for Mikkel,” he said in Danish.

"Hello, I'm Anna," she introduced herself, a bright smile and her hand out to shake Oliver’s.

"I'm Oliver... Olie. Come in, please," he returned the smile. He was comfortable with his Danish in front of Mikkel and Ellie, and even Mads, though he got ribbed for having a 'weirdo accent', but using it in front of a stranger felt a little more like a test. "I play with Mikkel in Phoenix."

"I know who you are," she walked in and turned to him. "I've followed his career... well. Since. I see the highlights now and again. He plays better with you there."

Oliver blushed, feeling entirely stupid. That wasn't even that much of a compliment to him, more about Mikkel, but he felt his whole body warm up.

Anna was nice, which for an instant Oliver resented immensely but when he really thought about it he let it go. Of course she's nice. Of course Mikkel wouldn't go for some uppity bitch or a bad person, even in his choice for casual sex. Mikkel just seemed to have the ability to find the good people everywhere.

Plus, Oliver couldn’t see how anyone who helped make Eleanor could be anything but amazing, and there was not an ounce of doubt that Eleanor shared DNA with this woman. The hair that he had so much associated with Mikkel was almost a carbon copy of Anna's, all light blonde and curly. The eyes, so blue that they were almost fake were also Anna, though Mikkel's DNA probably helped that one along.

Mikkel returned with Eleanor in tow, and any chance at conversation stopped with Anna catching sight of her. She seemed to freeze, her eyes going wide and a little wet, if Oliver wasn't mistaken. He couldn't blame her; Ellie was amazing.

Eleanor wrapped herself around her Far's leg and barely let go long enough to shake Anna's hand.

"Ellie," Mikkel said, gentle as if calming a horse. "This is --"

And he stopped, awkwardly looking at Anna and then at Olie, as if he could help. Anna knelt down to meet Ellie's eyes at her own level, and Olie felt weirdly relieved, because he could see the slight relaxing of tension in Ellie's body language.

"I'm Anna. I'm a friend of your Far's," Anna smiled.

Mikkel curled his hand around one of Eleanor's shoulders. "Anna, this is Eleanor."

"It's so very nice to meet you," Anna's voice cracked slightly. 

Eleanor inched out from behind Mikkel. "Nice to meet you."

"Would it be okay if I took you for a walk?"

For all of her earlier bravado, Eleanor's eyes went wide, and she retreated back to where she'd been standing before, just barely peeking out from behind Mikkel's huge thighs.  
The room went deathly quiet for a minute, Anna staring at Ellie and Ellie staring back. Olie knew he was an outsider, felt almost like he should just leave the room and let them play out whatever they needed to, but as soon as his eyes met Mikkel's he knew he wasn't going anywhere. His eyes pled with Olie, and it wasn't like Olie could ever deny even his silent demands. Hell, he'd flown to Denmark just from a sigh at the end of the line.

"Eleanor, do you know where Banny is?" Olie asked. "I'm sure Anna would love to meet him."

Ellie looked a little skeptical, but she turned around and ran to where her beat up monkey sat on one of the cushions, left no doubt from when they were watching cartoons that morning. She came back and held the monkey out in both hands, obviously not wanting Anna to take it from her but allowing her a good look.

"This is Banny. He's my monkey," she said and Olie marveled at how quiet and measured the usually crazy child was being. "I've had him my whole life."

Anna stroked the side of Banny's face. Eleanor didn't know who had given her that monkey, but Olie did. It was one of the few things that Anna had left her with.

"Nice to meet you, Banny," she said, taking a tattered hand and shaking it.

Eleanor let out a small giggle. "He's not _real_ , silly. He can't talk. Well... except MinOlie can talk to him."

Anna looked up at Oliver. "MinOlie can talk to him?"

"Yes," he nodded solemnly. "It's my magic power."

Eleanor ran over to Oliver and presented him with Banny, looking up at him in pure delight. "You can show her, right? Right?"

"This I must see," Anna got up from where she'd been crouching and focused on Olie.  
He felt himself blush again, but took the stuffed monkey into his hands and nodded at the little face of it.

"Banny," he said, and slipped into Swedish. "Are you having a good time?" The room was quiet for a second and Olie felt entirely silly but went with it. "Oh, you are a little scared?"

Ellie's brows furrowed. "He's scared?"

"Why yes, Ellie." Olie knelt down and showed her his face. "Can't you see? He's just a little scared though."

"Why is he scared?"

"Cause this is something new... Remember when you had to leave him in the car for school? He got scared then."

Ellie nodded. "But he wasn't scared after school."

"Because he knew you had had a good time, and you had all those stories to tell him."

She bit her lip. She looked back at Anna, who was looking at them both with apprehension. She leaned in close and whispered in Olie's ear. "What if I am scared?"

"That's okay, MinEllie. That is very okay," he whispered back. "Do you want to take  
Banny with you? Then, when you come back you can tell me and Far all about your adventure and Banny can help with all the details."

Eleanor looked back at Anna and then at her father. "A walk?"

"Yes, just for a little while," Mikkel said, so tense Olie was shocked a muscle wasn't showing in his neck.

Eleanor tilted her head to one side. "To the ice cream shop?"

Anna and Olie let out a simultaneous laugh.

"I don't know, Ellie," Anna said. "You'll have to ask your Far and Olie about that."

Mikkel put his hands in his jeans pockets. "You can go to the ice cream shop. But one scoop, okay? Farmor is making Millionbøf for dinner."

"I'll be good!" Ellie said, her voice back to it's normally higher pitch. She seemed excited and a lot more herself, and went to grab Anna's hand without any real hesitation. She turned back though, and put her empty hand out to Olie who immediately placed Banny in it.

Anna, a little stunned at the sudden excitement, looked at them both with a dazed smile. "I guess we'll see you soon."

"Bye Far, Bye MinOlie!"

The door closed and the house went dead silent.

Ten minutes passed, and then fifteen, and Oliver could tell this because there was a stupid clock on top of the TV that was really just acting as a way to mock him. They'd sat down at some point, on the couch that Mikkel had told him he’d grown up with. If the whole situation hadn’t been weird and kind of painful, it would have been sweet to be sitting there. A frozen piece of Mikkel history that Olie got to experience when he might not have. He tried to picture a young Mikkel curled up on the side of it watching TV, or with a hockey magazine in his hand, but nothing seemed to stay in his mind long enough to make a lasting image.

What he could picture, quite clearly, was everything that could be happening outside the door. Did Anna know she still had to hold Ellie's hand most of the time, because Ellie was smart and intelligent, but she was active and excitable and probably wouldn't notice a person on a bike or god, a car... a person in a car. Would Ellie remember not to get ice cream with strawberries as they made her mouth itch? Or to avoid the caramel add in because she didn't like the taste as much as she always thought she would? Would she like Anna? Would she hate her? Would she... prefer her?

He couldn't imagine Mikkel being in any better state of a mind set, and he knew that he'd flown there to be the rational one, but the rational part of him wasn't really running the show. There was a fair bit of distance between them, but Olie put his hand out and grabbed at Mikkel's, slipped his fingers between Mikkel's and squeezed a little bit. It could pass as comforting, and really, it was the best Olie could think to give.

"She seemed nice," Mikkel said.

Olie felt a weird bubble of laughter escape. "I think that was supposed to be what I said."

Mikkel's lips twitched, just slightly upwards. "I've not talked to her in **years** , Olie. And it wasn't exactly like we were dating back then. She was just my teammate's sister."

Olie quelled the fear that they had just let Eleanor go with someone that they both knew approximately nothing about, and instead tried to struggle for something better to say than 'WHY DID YOU LET HER GO?'

"She wrote me a letter a few years ago. Before she’d signed the papers," Mikkel said, almost guiltily, but they were still not looking at each other, so Olie was mostly going off of the tone of voice. "She asked how the baby was doing. She didn't even know her name."

Mikkel flipped his hand palm up and they laced their fingers together again. Olie squeezed his hand. "What did you send back?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Mikkel's voice was tense. "I didn't want her to think she could just come back into the picture. I didn't want to think she had earned any of that."

"She'll never get that part of Eleanor," Olie said, because she wouldn't. He scooted closer to Mikkel. "She knows that. She signed the papers. She has to know that, Mikkel."

"She didn't even know her name, Olie. And even now? She doesn’t know her favorite color or which story to read. She doesn’t know _Sov på min arm_ or what she eats. She might share her DNA, but she isn't her mom. You know?"

Olie turned in to look Mikkel in the eyes. "And I doubt she wants that, man. She just wants to meet her. She wanted to know her. And who wouldn't? Your kid is awesome."

Mikkel genuinely smiled. "She is pretty awesome."

"Don't even pull that. She is _totally_ awesome. And you raised her. You made her totally awesome."

"Well," Mikkel squeezed their hands. "I think you helped a bit."

Oliver went very very very still. Mikkel was smiling at him, friendly and at ease, there were a million different things going on in the world in that moment but all Olie could feel was the distinct need to ask him what the hell that meant. What he wanted. He wanted to tell Mikkel everything that he'd thought about on the plane over, in the weeks they were separated.

"And I guess Mads too," Mikkel added and then laughed. "But you tell him that and I kick your ass."

The moment evaporated and Oliver faked a laughed. "I promise to only attribute the bad things to him. For life."

"Like the fact that somehow we've got a morning person."

"Or how she hates eating anything green."

"Her obsession with Minecraft."

"The fact that she knows all the words to Fuck You by Cee Lo."

Mikkel blinked. "She knows WHAT? I'm going to kill him."

Oliver dug his head into Mikkel's shoulder and shook with laughter. His abs almost hurt with it. Mikkel muttered something too fast in Danish, but Olie attributes it to a curse to his sibling rather than anything he’d actually have to worry about.

“He got her to sing ‘Forget You’,” Oliver amends when he can breathe again. “I mean. Most of the time. It’s not like she hasn’t heard worse from the rookies.”

Mikkel let out an annoyed harumph. “Yeah, the rookies. Like you, two years ago.”

“Hey, I kept it kid friendly. Just try and see what she thinks Swedish curse words are.”

“You taught her SLUT.”

“That means ‘OVER’ and you know it,” he shrugged. “You should have noticed how all the older guys tried to get me to teach them how to say ‘when is this over?’ I should have guessed by their laugh when I told them.”

Oliver’s hand was sweaty wrapped in Mikkel’s, so he finally took it out and wiped it along the side of his pants. He was admittedly a little shocked by Mikkel taking it instantly back into his and grabbing onto it with both hands. It made his stomach hurt, but in a good way. They sat in silence again, tension an undercurrent, but at least it was comfortable, in a way.

When, suddenly ( _finally_ ), there was a knock at the door, Mikkel practically sagged backward. Olie would admit that possibly his heartbeat slowed down a little bit, but he didn’t say it out loud, because he felt a little crazy. Mikkel pushed himself to his feet, strode the short distance, opened the door and was immediately attack-hugged by Eleanor, her legs wrapped around his hips.

"FAR! FAR! Oh my gosh, do you know that Anna is from Finland? Finland, Far! And she's lived in France and in Italy and she wants to be a chef but she has to do all this stuff before hand, like... she has to work as a dish-washer and she knows how to make lefse, which is like sweet flat stuff like a pancake, but not really, and she..."

"Breathe, Aeling, breathe," Mikkel laughed.

Eleanor gave an exaggerated inhale and exhale. "She cooked with this guy in Italy who taught her to make pasgetti. Did you know you can MAKE the noodles? Not just buy them at the store, you can MAKE THEM?"

"That's true but it takes a lot of work," Anna jumped in. "And buying it at the store is sometimes best."

"Especially when it comes to macaroni and cheese, right?" Eleanor turned. "Cause the blue box is the best, when MinOlie makes it it tastes super good. He puts sausage in it and it's super yummy."

Olie shook his head. "It's literally hot dogs and Kraft dinner, not culinary delight."

Ellie jumped down from Mikkel, walked over to Olie, and made him kneel down to take his face in her hands. The monkey she clutched being pressed into his cheek probably took away from her seriousness. "It's my favorite, MinOlie. Far won't make it, and you have been gone, and it's the best."

"Thanks, MinEllie," Olie grinned. "I will make it when we get home, I promise."

"Good." She backed away and handed him Banny and tilted her head. "He wasn't really scared, not even one time. I was happy, too."

Olie looked over at Mikkel and at Anna, who were awkwardly standing across from one another with equally anxious expressions, and then back at Eleanor. "How about you and Banny and I go into your room, and we talk about what you guys did. You haven’t shown me your room yet and I want to hear all about the ice cream that you had..."

Eleanor took his hand and started to pull him towards the back of the house. She slipped comfortably into Swedish. "I forgot, and got caramel again. It was so gross, but Anna traded with me so I got to eat mint chocolate chip, instead. It was yummy. It might be my new favorite... but I'll have to try again and again just to make sure, you know?"

Oliver hid his laugh. "Oh of course. Sometimes you have to do experiments. Lots of experiments."

"I like ice cream experiments."

Oliver really shouldn't have been too shocked when he saw that her room in Mikkel's parents house could easily pass as her room anywhere. It was huge and pink (far far more pink than her room at home) covered in frills and dolls. There wasn't much denial that she was the only grand child.

She took him over to an elaborate dollhouse and he silently added it to the list of gifts he would think about for Christmas, as it looked absolutely amazing. The fact that her eyes lit up at it was a contributing factor.

"So you had fun with Anna?"

Eleanor handed him a tiny doll, one with short hair that had obviously been cut by a pair of scissors. "I liked her a lot. She is big. She is nice. She knew Far a long time ago, she said that he was really serious. Can you imagine Far being serious? I told her he was totally silly and she said she couldn't even imagine it."

It was pretty hard to imagine, actually, Mikkel before Ellie. Mikkel without Ellie. Even though he knew the serious side of Mikkel, the side that worried constantly and worked really hard to keep things compartmentalized. The focus he had on the ice. He'd seen him in scrum not able to really talk, not wanting to, but the idea of him not laughing like a hyena at the silly things that Ellie did, or dancing to ABBA in the kitchen while they made dinner, well it was sad in a way he couldn't place.

Ellie lifted the doll in her hands and pitched her voice low. "What do you want to do today?"

Oliver pitched his higher. "I don't know, dear, what do you want to do?"

"No, silly. That's a boy. His voice is low."

Olie looked at the doll, hair short but wearing what was pretty obviously a dress, and shrugged, his voice low. "I don't know, dear, what do you want to do?"

"We could go to the park!"

"Sounds good..."

"But we need our baby!"

Olie waited as Ellie dug through a box of dolls, finally pulling out a tiny doll sized baby and an over sized wooden stroller.

"Look, see, it's my family!"

"Ellie, you aren't a baby," Olie laughed, imagining telling Mads that he was the one with the short hair and a dress. She grabbed a slightly bigger one and offered it to him, throwing the baby back in the box and grabbing a huge ball of fluff instead.

"Okay, then HERE is our family.”

“Oh really?”

Eleanor beamed. “Yup, Far, MinOlie, me, and our puppy.”

Oliver’s breath caught in his chest. “Ellie… that isn’t quite…”

“Hey you two, come on out. Farmor is back and wants to see you, Olie. Plus, Anna is going to stay awhile.”

Eleanor popped to her feet and ran out. “Farmor!”

“You’d think she hadn’t been staying here for the last month,” Mikkel rolled his eyes. “... Are you okay?”

Olie looked down at the three dolls that were now discarded on the floor, his hands shaky and his eyes a little damper than he would admit to. He could easily lie, he probably should lie but his brother’s voice rang in his ears. “Not now, okay?”

“Okay,” Mikkel said, low and a little anxious, like he actually got it. They passed each other in the hallway, probably brushing by more than they had to.

*  
It didn’t seem to be awkward for Anna or Mikkel’s family, really, which for some reason made Oliver feel entirely uncomfortable. After a short while of talking it was decided that Anna would stay for dinner. Mikkel’s father was off at work, and Mads was out doing whatever, so they spent an hour or two just in the front room talking. Eleanor spent a good chunk of it curled up in Oliver’s lap, much to his delight. She played with his wrist cuff, and then took him away from the conversation to focus on her and a conversation about the park they would go to the next day. (Not the one they _might_ go to, the one they WOULD go to.)

Eventually, Mikkel left Anna, Eleanor, and Oliver seated in the front room while he went to the kitchen to help his mother with setting up and making dinner. Eleanor found a box of blocks that she upturned, just as Olie was about to ask her not to (typical). Anna sat on the other side of the couch and seemed to laugh at the fact that Oliver looked flustered at the Lego blocks all across the floor. He silently wished she would forget and stand up barefoot so she would know just how uncomfortable THAT was, but he could see that it was pretty cute when Ellie gleefully started to stack them up.

"I'm making a castle!" she called. He'd helped her make so many that he almost knelt down to start in on the tower but Anna stopped him.

"You know," she started, and then gnawed on her lower lip.

 _Ellie does that_.

She seemed to weigh her words carefully. "I'm grateful he found you. That... they found you."

Olie wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to respond to that; there was too much behind the comment. He looked at Ellie, who's castle consisted of one super tall tower. "I think I'm the lucky one."

"I didn't really want to give her up," her voice was just loud enough to hear it. Olie leaned in to hear better. "I didn't want to, but I couldn't take care of her. I was too young, I didn't even know who I was yet. And she was born and I ... I looked at her and saw that I couldn't even begin to give her what she deserved.

"And I didn't know what to do. After I left her here, I went home and cried for four days straight. Then suddenly, I wasn't as scared. Mikkel was a good guy. Somehow I knew he'd make the right decision for her. But I still spent years wondering about her. I followed his career, first through newspaper articles, and through our friends. My brother didn't know who the father was, but I guess he figured it out after I asked him about Mikkel for the hundredth time. So he kept an ear out. When he got to the NHL I thought about flying to Arizona but I was in school. I sent him a letter... he didn't respond. I got that. I got why he wouldn't want to share her with me."

"He was scared you'd take her back," Oliver felt compelled to defend.

She nodded. "Which is why I sent the paperwork to give her up."

Oliver tried to imagine it again, the feeling she had to have had to give up on Eleanor, but this time it wasn't any easier. "You gave her up to a seventeen year old high school drop out."

"I was only sixteen," she smiled ruefully. "I knew he was at least dedicated and mature for his age."

"He was."

"And any questions I had, any fear I ever let linger, is gone now."

Oliver nodded. "He is an amazing father."

"So are you."

His heart jumped straight to his throat, looked towards the kitchen and then back at her, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. "It isn't like that, Anna. We... We aren't like that. I mean. We might be? But. It's not..."

The fact that he couldn't even finish the sentence seemed to be enough of a reason not to. He shrugged instead, letting her fill it in in her head.

"Ugh," she rolled her eyes. "Seriously? Boys."

He felt a little offended for his entire gender, but was more curious as to let her keep going.

"Neither of you can see the way you look at each other? Disregarding the fact that Eleanor thinks that you hung the moon, her father looks at you like you were the one who actually thought of the moon to begin with. I've been around you for probably three hours and you have had the silent married conversations over Ellie's head no less than ten times. It's cute, really, if a little nauseating."

Olie couldn't look her in the eyes. He looked instead at the opening to the kitchen, where he half expected Mikkel to walk out any moment, having heard everything, and denying it all.

"You complement each other well, and I'm entirely grateful for it."

The air was thick again, with the kind of tension from that morning, when they had first met. He swallowed a few times, looked down at Eleanor again.

"I'm grateful for it, too," he admitted finally.

*  
Anna seemed as uncomfortable as Oliver felt at dinner, even with Lene making it a point to include her in the conversations. They talked about her job, about how she was hoping to find a place to be a sous chef one day, but that it was still just a dream. Lene asked Anna if she was dating anyone, which caused her to blush and stutter an answer out that was something akin to 'kind of, not really, I mean....'. (His Danish really wasn't that amazing; occasionally Mikkel remembered that and translated for him, but he knew it was more a lost cause.) 

Oliver silently ate the food on his plate and watched the scene unfold around him without knowing what was said, occasionally watching Mikkel as he squirmed in his seat, but more often than not he found himself looking at Anna. Even though she was basically his age, she looked so much younger as the night went on. She looked like she was still just in the part of her life where the last thing she wanted to do was meet her boyfriend's parents (and Mikkel was far from her boyfriend). She blushed a lot, and made weird, uncomfortable jokes that fell flat. 

It was obvious to him, suddenly, in the middle of that dinner, just why she had given Eleanor up. She was still a baby. She was still on her journey, and she hadn't felt able to give anything to a baby because she, herself, had nothing to give to herself. 

Something inside of him felt off-kilter at that thought. Mikkel had barely been older than Anna when he decided to keep her. Sure, he had been in a different place. Hockey players were made to give up a part of their childhood at the start, to start their career at 14 rather than in their twenties. But what little bits he had had left at the time had been pretty much tattered at the point when Eleanor landed at his doorstep. 

Maybe, Olie thought, maybe he'd gotten things wrong. Maybe he'd asked for too much from him. Maybe he'd expected too much of himself. 

He stared at Eleanor, at her bright blue eyes that stared at Anna like she was her new best friend, and laughed at everything she said, even if she had no chance of understanding the context. She was amazing. Absolutely everything that was good in the world. Her little giggle, her tiny legs kicking out and hitting Oliver in his shins every few beats. He loved her more than he thought was possible. 

Mikkel caught his eyes and his smile faltered. The talk that needed to be had felt like a chasm between them. He gave an honest smile, and Mikkel's face relaxed. 

*  
With all the things that had gone on that day, Oliver had thought (hoped?) that Eleanor would conk out on the couch, or at the very least easily go to bed. He somehow had forgotten in the three weeks of separation that logic and children's sleep schedule rarely made sense. She seemed to have extra gas in her tank, fighting bedtime with all that she had. They tricked her into a bath, told her about six stories each, and then finally told her that she could listen to the radio as long as she stayed in bed. It was not necessarily the best thing they could do, bribing a four-year-old to get her to bed.

Any other night he would have actually tried harder, but since the moment Anna had left the house he'd had this weird thrumming under his skin, and he was pretty sure if he actually tried to do anything more for Ellie, he would jump entirely out of his skin. If the look of sheer relief as he closed the door behind him was any indication, Mikkel felt similarly.

But then came the long awkward silence. Oliver knew he should probably breach it, and thought of and then threw away about a dozen different ideas before he finally just decided to wait it out a bit. They walked into the kitchen, where Mikkel started to make some tea without even asking if he wanted any. He handed it over with a little milk and honey, just they way Oliver preferred it. It was familiar in that way that Oliver had been yearning for for weeks, and yet it gave him no comfort.

They sat across from each other, and Oliver waited for the penny to drop.

"Olie," Mikkel started, staring directly into his cup.

Oliver waited for him to continue but he didn't. "...Mikkel?"

"I ... thank you for being here today. I don't know what I would have done without you here."

He let out a breath. "Where else would I have been?"

Which, admittedly, was a dumb question. He had no obligations here, no matter how much he wanted them. He could have been at home. Or in Arizona. Hell, he could have been on a beach in Cozumel living it up like a freaking single guy if he wanted to. But... he didn't want to be anywhere else. He just wasn't sure if that was something he was allowed to say.

"You didn't have to be here," Mikkel said, reading his mind as always.

"Maybe I wanted to be here, Mikkel. Have you thought of that?"

Mikkel finally looked up at him, his hands cupping the mug of tea tight enough that Oliver could see his knuckles turning a little white.

"You want to be here." It wasn't a question, so Oliver didn't bother answering it. He just stared back at Mikkel, his jaw slightly clenched. "You do get what all that means, right?"

Oliver felt a rush of anger that he tried to swallow down. "Yes, Mikkel. I want to be here. I get all that is there. I get that it isn't just you, it's you and Ellie. I've gotten that since day one. I know that she is yours, and not mine, but I love her. And I love you. And I'm sure of that. I'm so very sure of that, that you called me at two in the morning and I books a flight at 2:45. Were it not impractical and crazy I would have gotten in the car. Even though you hadn't called me, and had only texted me like two whole times in the span of three weeks. So yes, I do get what that means, do you get what _I_ mean?"

"I didn't call you because I couldn't risk it."

"Couldn't risk WHAT?" Oliver's voice went a little louder than it should, and both of their eyes flicked to the doorway that led towards Ellie's room.

When sufficient time went by without her coming running in, Mikkel started again. "I couldn't risk calling you because I wanted to too much."

"You realize you are making no sense, right?"

"I wanted to call you all the time, Oliver. When Ellie woke up in the morning she wanted to call you. When I was at the grocery store I wanted to get your opinion on cereal. I couldn't remember if Ellie liked the strawberry yogurt or the yogurt WITH strawberries in it, and I felt like I was going crazy..."

"Strawberry yogurt, she doesn't like the chunks," he interjected without thinking.

Mikkel pointed at him. "See, I forgot that. I kept feeling like you would be here when we got home, but you weren't, and I was going crazy."

“You were going crazy? I was in Sweden, alone, with my family, for weeks .” 

They both laughed. Mikkel put his hand through his short hair. 

“This is big, you know that?” 

Oliver felt like maybe he should get ‘YES’ tattooed on his hand, so he could smack MIkkel in the head with it, but that might be taking it a bit far. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“And you’re in?” 

Oliver nodded. “All in.” 

“Well then,” Mikkel let go of his cup. “I think we should give this a try.” 

“REALLY?” 

Mikkel leaned over the table to put his hand over Oliver’s mouth. “You wake that child up and I swear it’s over entirely.” 

His voice was light but he must have seen the look that passed over Oliver’s face. “Sorry. Bad joke.” 

He took his hand off of Oliver’s mouth and replaced it with his lips, awkwardly splayed over the table. 

“Really?” Oliver said, just above a whisper. 

Mikkel got up and started out of the kitchen, stopping to pull Oliver up. “Come on, let me show you.” 

*

That night, even with Mikkel wrapped around him snoring, Oliver couldn’t sleep. He was all in. It was a thing. There was a sense of something that he couldn’t quite say, an energy underneath his skin that left him anxious in the best way possible. 

Mikkel was giving him a chance, and he was going to freaking take it. But how? How was he supposed to show that he was going to be what Mikkel needed here? He’d gotten the things at home down, mostly, but the things that he could do at home to change he couldn’t do until they got _home_ , and that felt like a lifetime from that moment. 

Somewhere around four in the morning an idea hit him in one giant thwap. A family day. He needed to make the ultimate family day. A hygge to end all hygges. He gently slid out from Mikkel’s hold and swiped Mikkel’s computer off his desk. 

It was time for him to go big or go home. 

*

A few short hours later he was ready and waiting, as Mikkel walked out of his bedroom, rubbing at his eyes and frowning at the fact that both his daughter and Oliver were fully clothed and waiting at the dining room table. 

“Uh. Good morning?” 

“Morning Far!” 

Mikkel’s mom was pouring herself a cup of coffee. She said something that made Mikkel laugh. 

“She doesn’t think you slept last night, but she’s okay with it cause you had the coffee on when she woke up. She thinks we’ll keep you.” 

Oliver blushed. He’d tried a stilted conversation that morning with Lene, but knew that not much had come across. His English wasn’t the best, even after two years, but she tried, and was quite patient with him. At least he didn’t feel too much pressure to immediately try out his Danish. Down the road maybe. That didn’t matter. 

“Get dressed, I’m taking you to breakfast!” 

Eleanor parroted him. “Breakfast, Far. He’s taking us to breakfast!”

*  
The restaurant was closed, a small handwritten note saying cheerfully they were out of town for family and would be back in three days. It wasn’t like that didn’t happen in his hometown, but in Copenhagen? This was supposed to be a metropolitan area! Not a place that a restaurant would just close down for family needs! 

Mikkel laughed. “It’s family owned, Olie. This happens. Let’s find someplace else.” 

“But it’s supposed to have the best æbleskivers,” he said. It was on three separate lists of places you _had_ to go to in Copenhagen. 

“Farmor has the best æbleskivers,” Eleanor nudged him. “Not _here_.” 

“Yeah, you better not let my mor hear you, you’ll lose your status as her favorite guest.” 

Oliver didn’t want to laugh at anything. He wanted to go into the stupid restaurant and eat. He had a _plan_. He looked up and down the road, as if the owners were waiting to surprise them with this being a huge joke. Of course they were open! Of course! But. No. 

“Well, let’s go find another place for breakfast,” Mikkel offered. 

He did, with a little reluctance. The breakfast ended up being good, if not necessarily the ‘Best in Copenhagen’. It had lefse though, which was something he enjoyed having Eleanor try. He would have to get his grandma to show him how to make it. 

(Though maybe not; it took hours and an assembly line. He could just have her send him some.) 

Then they made their way to the ice rink. That was the bigger deal of the two things, thankfully. And it was going to be just them…

Except the parking lot was more or less full. Much too full for a building he had supposedly rented out entirely for himself, Mikkel and Eleanor. They entered it to find a group ahead of them. 

“This is awesome,” Eleanor squealed. “I want to go on the ice. Can we?” 

Oliver leaned in and whispered to Mikkel. “I’d rented it out. This isn’t right… I rented it out.” 

Mikkel gave him a look and then walked up to the lady at the till. He spoke in fast Danish, friendly and calm and everything Oliver was definitely not feeling. 

“She wants to know who you talked to?” 

He thought for a minute. “Um. Jan?” He was fifty percent sure that was the guy’s name. The woman seemed to recognize it though and said something to Mikkel. 

“That’s the morning guy, but he hadn’t left any instructions. Plus they usually need a much bigger window of time to rent out the whole ice. Are you sure you asked for today?” 

“Of course I said _today_ ” Oliver said, trying his best not to let a whine in his voice. Eleanor’s hand clutched tighter at his side, tugging at him. “The ice was supposed to be _ours_.” 

The lady, who looked perfectly nice even if Oliver wanted to hate her, calmly said something to Mikkel. Mikkel responded, then turned back to him. 

“It isn’t on the books. Either you didn’t speak to the right person or … maybe you didn’t understand what the man was saying on the phone.” 

Oliver didn’t want to say that that was a possibility. He’d thought he was saying everything correctly. He furrowed his brows. 

“ICE SKATING! ICE SKATING!” Eleanor tugged on his hand again. “We’re going, right? COME ON!” 

“Of course, Ellie,” Mikkel smiled and took his credit card out of his back pocket. 

There wasn’t much that Oliver could do beyond follow behind, even if he wanted to. When he saw the amount of people on the ice his stomach fell, this was supposed to be _just_ them. That was the point. 

He laced up his skates, that he’d had to rent (not like he’d planned ahead to bring his own). Mikkel, who had his own, and had them on in about three seconds flat, had already gotten Eleanor’s on by the time he was finished. 

“Come on, slow poke. You want the ice to melt before we get out there?” Mikkel smiled. 

Eleanor’s eyes went wide. “It can’t really melt, can it?” 

“I don’t know, if Olie moves slow enough it just might…” 

Eleanor grabbed at Oliver’s hand and tugged _hard_. “Come on MinOlie, come on. We need to go now.” 

He put on the best smile he had. “I’m up, I’m up.” 

They made their way to the ice, and as soon as they got out onto it Ellie slid out and turned around in a perfect circle. 

“I’m going to be an ice princess.” 

“Last week you said you were going to be a goalie,” Mikkel pointed out. 

Eleanor put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Well, an ice princess can be a goalie too, silly.” 

With that she skated off, over to one side where a small group of kids were skating back and forth in front of a net. There were no kid sized sticks, so they were essentially playing a weird form of kickball with a war-torn puck and she instantly joined the fray.

They watched in silence for a while, leaned up against the side of the rink. 

With a surprising lack of fear, Mikkel nuzzled into his side, “You know what this is, right?” 

Oliver huffed, slightly annoyed. “A fu--freaking mess.” 

“Hygge, Olie,” he smiled at him. “The perfect hygge.” 

Eleanor skated up to them giggling. 

“These guys are silly,” she pointed back at them. “They say their Far and Mor could beat you. I told them my Fars could beat their entire family. ” 

Mikkel looked at Oliver and Oliver blinked.

“They think that they could beat _US_?” Mikkel smiled beatifically. 

“Uh huh.” 

“Well,” he nudged Oliver. “We’re going to have to show them, huh?” 

Oliver came back to himself and pushed off the wall. “I guess we will.”


	3. Epilogue

It wasn’t really a shock to Mikkel when Mads came to him at the end of the summer to tell him he wasn’t moving back. It had been a long time coming, almost four years longer than the initial run had asked for. 

“I’ve been asked to try out fo Malmo,” Mads said, almost sheepishly. “And I think I’ve got a real shot. Or maybe even Sonderjyske, if I play my cards right. There has been some interest.” 

Mikkel practically jumped on his brother, hugging him so hard that he heard a distinct “woof” of air come out of his brother’s mouth. 

“Easy now Meeks, don’t screw up the shoulder now that I’ve got a chance.” 

Mikkel backed off quickly but patted the other shoulder really hard. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me that you’d been trying to get back into it? I would’ve helped! We could’ve practiced!” 

Mads gave a pointed look to where Oliver was prone on the floor, chin on one fist and his other hand playing with a set of obnoxiously pink Lego blocks. “You’ve been a little busy this summer.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, but the smile on his face was hard to wipe off as he watched Oliver make a tower and Eleanor gleefully knock it down. “It’s been an adventure.” 

An elbow hit his side to get him out of his momentary reverie. “That’s okay. I was waiting for you two to get your head out of your asses. I’m just relieved you didn’t let that ‘break up’ last much longer. I don’t know who was more depressing to watch, you or Ellie.” 

He tried not to think about those weeks, honestly. It had been a pretty miserable time for the whole family, but it was over and done with, and while things were still new, in a way they felt like they’d settled down completely somewhere in the middle of the summer. 

“So you’re staying here, for good?” 

“Well, not here. I’ve been thinking I might actually want to live without my family for a while,” he shrugged. “Like an honest to God grown up or something.” 

“Like you could live on your own,” Mikkel teased. “You’ll be here for dinner like six nights a week.” 

“Well, maybe and maybe not. But there might also be a girl.”

Mikkel’s eyes went wide. “ _A_ girl. Like singular? The Mads-man has been tamed? And I haven't even met her? How is that possible?” 

“We’ll fix that before you go,” Mads gave a small smile. “You’ll have to at least pretend to be normal.” 

Mikkel didn’t even bother teasing his brother for the blush that was coloring his neck. "I think I can manage that." From the floor Oliver was making a roaring noise, pretending to be a tiny pink horse. "I make no guarantees for that one though." 

"Eh, at least I can say there are no genetics shared." 

Suddenly, it was silent as they watched the two on the floor. It was definitely not something either would say, but this was a moment that left them both feeling sad. Four years of living together had made them even more of a team than they’d been when they were kids. The idea of not having his brother to go to whenever he needed him was altogether nerve wracking. 

But it was the right move. He wasn’t dumb. Mads had to live his own life sometime. 

“Plus,” Mads said, obviously purposefully breaking whatever ‘moment’ they were having. “I’m thinking that as bad as it was last year, this next year it’ll be worse. I’m not really in the mood to play third wheel to you practising making babies.” 

Mikkel groaned. “Shut up, dude. You caught us _one time_.” 

“I might have only seen it once, but you guys were NOT as subtle as you thought. Why’d you think I started a white noise machine in Ellie’s room?” 

“Fuck me,” he closed his eyes. “Tell me she never asked you about it.” 

When he opened his eyes Mads was bent over laughing. “No, jackass. It was a preemptive strike. But good luck on not answering that question soon.” 

Mikkel did what he knew he should and knocked his brother with one shoulder, which Mads reciprocated. Two minutes later they were full-on wrestling on the carpet of his parent’s house, like they were pre-teens all over again. 

Somewhere between him putting Mads in a headlock, and Mads pinning him in the center of the ground, he realized that he was really going to miss the jerk.


End file.
